


Sleep Disorder Club

by xxxholicmaniac



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/M, FBI!Sam, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxholicmaniac/pseuds/xxxholicmaniac
Summary: After almost a decade, Sam and Cas meet again at a hotel in Kansas City. Once again, they find themselves orbiting around Dean, but this time is different. Sam is no longer an awkward and confused teen. Dean has come down his high horse, sobered up and he's getting married. Cas has got his shit together and had plenty of time to figure out what role Dean played in his life. Now it’s time to catch up with the program and figure out what's Sam’s part in the play. Especially during those days before New Year’s Eve (right before The Big Fight with Dean), when he felt their bond could shift towards something different.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19
Collections: Sastiel Big Bang 2020





	1. You Are Cordially Invited

**Author's Note:**

> This work was created for the Sastiel Big Bang 2020. Darling, what a ride.
> 
> Art by the lovely and talented Love-Nakamura! (Tumblr: @love-nakamura)  
> Here are the links:  
> https://love-nakamura.tumblr.com/private/630065717429026816/tumblr_EMYZlAbNhwWpOkAP9  
> https://love-nakamura.tumblr.com/private/630065700791353344/tumblr_FbhB1oTMBsRpjWGQE
> 
> Here's my Tumblr, in case you wanna chat: @xxxholicmaniac

[ Sam ]

_“Hello everybody, this is James Novak here on KEXP. Welcome to another—”_

_“Yet another one!”_

_“Yes, we’re still ticking.”_

_“Can’t figure it out why, though.”_

_“Let’s call it a miracle and leave it at that, shall we? Welcome--”_

_“Obviously. We are a miracle.”_

_“May I, uhm, would you let me finish the introductions, please?”_

_“Sorry, go ahead. I’m so pumped, I can’t hold it back!”_

_“I know, honey, I know. Like I was trying to say before I was interrupted by my very excited friend over here, welcome everybody to another miraculous episode of_ What goes around…”

“Payback's a bitch.”

 _“With me, as always, Gabriel Milton_.”

“ _Hey guys. Just wanna let you know, in case you have a wishlist or something, we do actually have a direct line with, you know, The Boss Upstairs.”_

“ _He means our producer, the charming Miss Meg Masters, who is currently shaking her head in a disapproval manner. Assisting her tonight, Jack Nougat Kline. Thank you guys for all your work and support behind the metaphorical curtain.”_

_“Because it’s more like a window.”_

_“And thank you very much, Jack, for tonight's snack feast.”_

_“Really appreciate it, kiddo.”_

_“Please, I beg you, don’t shove everything into your mouth in one go.”_

_“Can’t make such promises, Jimmy.”_

_“Lovely.”_

_“What?”_

_“Talking about manners, right? That’s why we don’t get invited anywhere.”_

_“Because of my manners? Or because of yours?”_

_“Honestly, I think between us, we have like—”_

_“Zero chances.”_

_“Zero. We might have the most annoying habits—”_

_“I wouldn’t call it annoying, just…”_

_“Disturbing?”_

_“We are not psychos!”_

_“We’re just weird.”_

_“Yes, but—”_

_“Weird is good.”_

_“I think we got that specific brand of weird that makes us funny, kinda hot, definitely adorable, but we’re not protocol compatible. For example, we have a strong inclination to laugh in the most inappropriate situations.”_

_“I used to get kicked out of the library a lot. Librarians hated me. They put a price on my head, I swear.”_

_“Jimmy. We get kicked out of funerals.”_

_“Oh, yes.”_

_“Note the use of the plural. Yes, Jack. It was not a one time thing.”_

_“It never is with us...”_

_“We were a little too loud for some. That puts us on the spot. But we’re not monsters, we don’t think death is funny.”_

_“Well… I mean…”_

_“James?”_

_“We might, uhm, miss the mark on what’s socially adequate sometimes.”_

_“Just say we’re socially awkward, everybody knows that by now… I mean, that’s why we work on radio instead of TV. We would never make it—”_

_“Despite being very handsome, I may add.”_

_“Aww, you think I’m handsome?”_

_“I think you are very good looking.”_

_“Dear, God! You're making me blush!”_

_“Except when you stuff your face with food. I can’t bear to look at you then, you’re truly disgusting.”_

_“Yeah, I get that a lot.”_

_“You sound shocked.”_

_“I feel like my healthy appetite is wrongfully frowned upon.”_

_“You really should try eating less like an animal, and see what happens…”_

_“And not shove the food into my face like there’s no tomorrow? Nonsense!”_

_“Again, no surprise there.”_

_“But you love me anyways, right?”_

_“Of course. I just have to refrain from taking you out...”_

_“Or to funerals.”_

_“I don’t actually have that option anymore, do I?”_

_“No, you don’t. We laugh at funerals together, as a family.”_

_“We actually do. And funny thing is, it's not just the two of us!”_

_“We’re not! But only because your family, man… You are a bunch weirdos.”_

_“My brother-in-law, ladies and gentlemen.”_

_“But you are MY little weirdos, so… Annie, if you are listening to this, I love you, baby.”_

_“Smooth. Really smooth.”_

_“Thanks. Listen, talking about smooth…”_

_“That’s, that’s a weird transition, uhm, I’m not sure if I wanna hear the rest of that sentence…”_

_“I was gonna ask about Charlie’s whereabouts, you arse!”_

_“Oh, that actually makes sense.”_

_“Our audience might wonder, though…”_

_“Well, like Sempai likes to say... Sore wa himitsu desu.”_

_“Show off.”_

_“Back to your question, Charlie is going to join us after the break, we’re having a little schedule conflict this week. By the way, if you haven’t listened to her show yet—”_

_“What the hell are you waiting for?”_

_“Yes, what he said. The Girl With The Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo, here on KEXP. You can tune her live on weekdays at 10 p.m. or you can catch up later. Just download our app and listen to all our shows wherever you are, whenever you want. Just go to your App Store or download it from our website at www.kexp-radio.org/appmeup. And that’s it.”_

_“So simple.”_

_“You will also get access to a lot of exclusive content such as podcasts, playlists, reviews, news of upcoming events--”_

_“You can check out, share and download all the insane playlists we come up with Jimmy. Both on iTunes and Spotify.”_

_“That's right. And we also write our fair share as well. So, if you're looking for some reading material…”_

_“The whole nine. Right on the electronic device of your choice. It doesn’t get easier than that.”_

_“No, it doesn’t. Also, you should check out the pod, Pac-Man Fever.”_

_“Yes! Amazing! Those two are hilarious!”_

_“Charlie Bradbury and Kevin Tran have an amazing chemistry and you’ll have so much fun hearing them talk about a wide range of topics regarding games. From latest video games releases, to vintage board games and everything in between—”_

_“They did an episode on Monopoly that was just, I’m, I’m doing a chef kiss.”_

_“It was delicious!”_

_“Scrumptious!”_

_“They are exceptionally amazing human beings, wouldn’t you agree?”_

_“One hundred percent. We, we should invite Kevin over again, don’t you think?”_

_“Oh, definitely. It’s way overdue.”_

_“OK, let’s make it happen.”_

_“Let’s make it happen!”_

_“Meg is nodding, so I dare to say it is done.”_

_“OK, great. Wonderful news. So, should we read some messages from our lovely audience?”_

_“Sure, go ahead. I'll finish my Snickers."_

_“All right. Don't choke. Uhm, Alfie from Chicago, Illinois, says ‘Hey guys, I love your show'. Wow. Would you look at that? Four exclamation points.”_

_“A punctuated way of love.”_

_“Wait, what?”_

_“A punctuated way of love.”_

_“Oh, I misheard that.”_

_“What did you think---?”_

_“No, no, nevermind. Stop laughing. Let me get back to Alfie’s message. So then he adds: thank you for keeping me company during my long night shifts.”_

_“Alfie says night shifts and I hear, ‘I’m Batman’.”_

_“I don’t think he, I’m not getting that, uhm, vigilante vibe. Three exclamation points too many.”_

_“I’m pretty sure the real Batman listens to our show.”_

_“Well, obviously. Who else is awake this late at night?”_

Sam sorta huffs a laugh and Rowena stirs in her dreams. He hits the turn signal and passes a white delivery minivan.

_“We should take that poll again, the one we did a few years back, remember?”_

_“You are only having good ideas tonight, Gabriel.”_

_“What can I say? It’s a gift.”_

_“And probably all that sugar pumping through your veins.”_

_“You know? That. That actually makes a lot of sense.”_

_“Who needs a shower epiphany when you can have sugar OD induced one?”_

_“Well…”_

_“I think it's a fair price for good ideas.”_

_“Oh, definitely.”_

He reaches for his traveling mug and is discouragingly empty, much like the interstate stretching ahead of him at this time of night. He’s grinning, though. He’s grinning like a fool.

[ Cas ]

“So, you are actually gonna go.”

“Yes.”

“To Dean Winchester’s wedding."

“Yes.”

“All the way to Kansas.”

“Mm–hm.”

“Why.”

“What do you mean _why_?” Charlie huffs as she keeps adding sugar to her coffee.

“I mean…” Gabe shrugs.

“You guys keep in touch, right?" Charlie takes a big gulp and seems to be satisfied after one last spoonful. “It’s not like it’s coming out of nowhere.”

“Well, no. Of course. We text. He called me on my birthday. Oh, I see. I just heard it. It sounds---Do you think is weird?" He turns back to Gabriel.

“It’s not weird,” Charlie continues. “It’s just an adult situation. It’s what they do. They get married. They buy a house and. I don't know. Golf. School districts. Taxes. And,” she waves her hand dismissively. “It’s just protocol procedure. Don’t overthink it. He’s your friend.”

“Sounds like we’re not adults.”

“Oh, Mama. We don’t adult that way.”

“That said,” Gabe continues. “It’s Dean, Cassie. I know you made amends and,” he mimics Charlie's gesture. _Whatever_. “I’m just…”

“Curious?” Cas squints at him and Gabe grins like the Cheshire Cat.

“We’re back in two!” The disembodied voice of Meg comes somewhere outside the breakroom.

“We’ll feed Bob and water your plants,” Gabriel pads his shoulder on the way to the door, his lollipop dancing from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Please don’t raid my kitchen. Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you, as payment if you will.”

“Nice try!” Gabe huffs. “Forbidden goods taste better.”.

“Some say crime is the _real_ secret ingredient,” Charlie adds as she lightly pushes him out of the room, coffee dangling on her other hands.

[ Sam ]

By the time he drops off Rowena, the musical part of the show is almost over. Then Gabriel brings up the funeral anecdote again but this time Charlie tells her version of the story. Sam allows himself to laugh out loud. By the time he kills the engine at the parking lot of his building, his face hurts.

“ _I’m getting the signal_. _We have to wrap it up, nerds,”_ says Charlie.

“ _Ok, let me just. I’ll be quick,”_ Cas promises. “ _You know how important humor is for me_ ”.

“ _Oh, yes, Mama._ ”

“ _That's why we’re here for_ ,” Charlie chimes in.

“ _Humor is a complex human faculty. It demands attention, thought, empathy, compassion, sensibility, in order to thrive, to truly--I know we'd talked about this before, many times. I’m sorry, I’m so repetitive. But, what I realized that day, when Aunt Brenda politely asked us to leave--_ ”

“ _Understatement_ ,” Charlie bursts into laughter again.

“ _I realized that from my point of view, the true tragedy weights on those who can’t afford laughter. And, naturally, I have a great amount of respect for those who, especially in situations which conjure another mindset by default, find comfort in humor. I believe we can find beauty and poetry in the most discouraging scenarios, and I think that's amazing. It humbles me. In this particular case, we were there to support our friend in a time of grieving; but it mutated in ritual of communion over the overwhelming fact that we are, without exception, mortals. Listen, we laughed because we all heard the clock ticking.”_

_"True."_

“ _We have to allow ourselves to be vulnerable first_ ,” adds Charlie.

“ _Precisely!_ ” Cas continues. “ _Laugh makes life bearable. But more important, humor makes it beautiful. And yes, it takes courage. Vulnerability takes courage. And maybe a little faith. But I think that's a fair price to pay, don’t you?_ ”

Sam hears himself sigh.

“ _Thank you guys for joining us tonight here on KEXP. I’m James Novak. Behind the looking glass, Meg Masters and Jack Kline. With me at the weird-shaped table, Sempai Bradbury._ ”

“ _Mata ashita, my fellow bitches. Take care._ ”

“ _And Gabriel Milton_.”

“ _My pleasure, as usual._ ”

 _“Thank you for putting up with me tonight. Have a good night._ ”

Sam turns off the radio and the music fades to silence. He sighs and gets out of the car, taking the mail with him on the way up. He opens the door of his apartment and is greeted by darkness and stale air. He has done this routine a million times over. He puts away his badge and gun first. Then the rest of the steps may vary a little, but usually it goes this way: open the windows to air the rooms, drink water, undress, unpack the suitcase, dirty clothes on the washing machine and the rest to the dryer pile, drink water, change the sheets, shave, teeth, shower, toss everything in the dryer, tea, granola, check mail and email.

There's an envelope sticking out of the usual stuff, heavy and fancy looking. It comes along a wax seal and all. Yeah, that's it. He flips the invitation over. Really fancy stuff.

There's a handwritten note along.

_Sammy,_

_I hope you can make it._

_Dean._

“Hmmm.”

_PS: You promise me strippers and a speech, so I'm gonna hold you accountable. In that order._

The corners of his lips curl in an involuntarily grin. He'll deal with that later. At a more reasonably human hour.

As he falls asleep, Cas’s voice echoes somewhere inside his head. He dreams a lot that night, but as soon as he opens his eyes it's all one giant blur.


	2. Destination, Kansas

[ Cas ]

Of course Dean had thought about the best sleeping arrangements possible and staying over at the Winchester's farm was kinda tempting, at least money wise. But that was the only perk. Luckily, Cas didn’t even have the chance to decline. _I know you’re probably gonna be more comfortable in a hotel, but, y'know, in case you're on a budget or something_. Dean had said, giving him a way out. He said _thank you, Dean_ and _I wouldn't want to impose_. So Dean replied _it’s cool_ and _I'm just glad you're coming_ and _I really appreciate it_. And then they said their goodbyes. And Cas thought it would be OK. He had no interest in going down that particular Memory Lane. Besides, after living alone for so long, the prospect of sharing space and time not only with Dean, that was manageable, he thought, but the extended clan, was, at best, a very discouraging idea. Therefore, a hotel was the sensible choice. Anna had insisted and finally booked him a room at the 21c Museum Hotel herself. With his still shitty sleeping habits, although much improved in comparison, because medication helps but only to an extent, and, well, his shitty habits altogether, a hotel did provide better and wider options for his restlessness. For example, a bar where he could go, after a long shower, of course, and chill and maybe even write a little, which is exactly what he's doing, or attempting to do right now, while nursing a drink in the middle of the night. So far he managed to entertain himself, because he still needed some time before calling Dean to let him know he was here and there was no point writing to him this late at night anyways, with a list of things that make him feel human. Number one, a hot shower. Number two, clean clothes, especially underwear. Number three... Well, a short list for now, because after a long paragraph on fabric softener, it was all ramble. So he went back to Bob’s sketch, the one he started about three weeks ago and left him looking like a nightmarish cat-fruit hybrid.

“What can I get you?” The barman asked and Cas spared a glance up.

“Hi, how are ya? Can I have a bourbon? Thanks.” The tall man replied.

“May I have a refill, please?” He pointed to his glass, long gone. The barman looked back at him and Cas suddenly realized he wasn't the man that poured out his drink before.

“Three fingers of rye,” he added. He must have lost track of time and missed the change of shift.

“Cas?” The tall man almost whispered.

“Yes?” He replied and took off his reading glasses.

“Wow…” the tall man took a deep breath and looked confused, like he was trying to find the right words. There was something oddly familiar with the way he...

“Sam?” Cas sat up straight. It couldn't be him.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed softly and smiled. All dimples and coy.

_Sammy._

* * *

**[ Sam ]**

“And this is my soft baby brother, Sammy-wammy,” Dean forcefully tussles his hair from behind.

“It’s Sam,” he tries to get up from the hammock but Dean throws him back and goes down with him. The hammock swings violently and he gets only moving glimpses of the guy’s face. He tries to disentangle himself away from Dean but now he tries to tickle him.

“Dean! Cut it out!” He yells when his book flies away but that only makes it worse. “Let me say hi to Cas!” He pleads between embarrassing giggles. That seems to do the trick because suddenly he’s off him.

“You don’t get to call him that,” Dean sounds way too serious. “For you, it’s James.”

“It’s OK, he can call me Cas,” Cas replies as Sam tries to rise to his feet.

“You can call me Cas, Sam.” He says now, piercing him through with big baby blues, hand outstretched with his battered copy of _The Shining_. Sam takes it back, suddenly very self-conscious.

“No he doesn’t,” Dean smacks Cas’s shoulder.

“Dean.”

“You made me call you by your human name a full _year_.”

“Your human name?” Sam echoes.

Cas squints at Dean for a long second and then turns to Sam. “My mom---” Dean immediately cut him off.

“Hell no! You ain’t giving him the backstory!” Dean grabs his shoulder and starts yanking him in the direction of the house. “C’mon, you gotta meet the rest of the clan. Chop chop.”

Cas looks back at Sam and weaves at him. Sam replies, raising his hand, still holding the book.

“Nice to meet you...”

* * *

Sam sat next to him, one chair between them, with all the extra inches he seemed to have picked up along the way, which were quite a lot.

“I didn't know you were coming,” his voice sounds a lot deeper and rougher than he remembered. But then again the last time he'd seen him it was actually a long time ago. And now, well. Sam looks older, of course, but also he looks exhausted. It seems like he hasn't slept in a long while, if the dark circles around his eyes are something to go by. His hair is damp (and long!) like he just stepped out of the shower, but seems like he skipped shaving. His beard could use a good trimming. It's an odd look all together. Not necessarily bad, it's kinda hot if he cares to be honest, but Sam was always... He crosses his arms over the counter, and the sleeves of his plain white tee look a little bit too tight around his biceps. Cas even sees some ink peeking under the fabric. The bartender comes by with their drinks, and they both say thanks, and are left alone in their own corner. Silence. Sam raises the bourbon, taps the glass lightly on the counter, and drinks. Cas reciprocates with a smile, and ignores the implications of Sam's previous statement altogether. Instead, he goes for something more obvious.

“Are you staying here?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, nodding lightly, while he inspects the content of his glass.

“Oh, I thought…” Cas trails off and Sam shrugs.

“There's a lot of people coming. Nana and Grandpa Henry. Some cousins from the Harvell and the Campbell side. I know it’s a big house, but it’s not that big,” he smiles half-heartedly and takes a sip of his bourbon. “Plus Jo is bringing her boyfriend for the first time. Kinda of a big deal.”

“Wow, uhm, I, I wouldn’t want to be that guy. Your dad... Can be really intimidating.”

Sam wheezes.

“She's more worried about my brother.”

“They were always very possessive of each other,” he points out with a chuckle. “It took two summers for Jo to like me.”

“It took you climbing the tree to rescue the cat,” Sam says with the sweetest smile.

“Which happened during my second visit.”

“But you won her heart after that.”

“I won her approval at best.”

“You owe Pip a big one either way.”

“That score has long been settled, Sam. It was a gentlemen's agreement.”

Sam wheezes and covers his face with his hand.

“If someone could have negotiated anything at all with Pip, I have no doubt it would be you. That cat was a mess.”

“Pip had his peculiarities. Have you met him before?”

“Hmmm?”

“Jo’s boyfriend?”

“Yes. Once, over FaceTime.”

“What’s his name?”

“Adam.”

“And...? Did you like him?”

“Yeah, I mean. We didn't really talk that much. But Jo's really into him, so that settles it for me.”

“You know what? We could arrange a Pip-stuck-on-the-tree scenario with Dean. Get Adam to climb the tree for---”

“Apple pie?”

“Beef jerky?”

“Gummy bears?”

“Maybe the whole picnic basket.”

“It might actually work.”

“I mean, beats the alternative. But it has to be very sutil, so he doesn't come out as a suck-up.”

“Yes, there's a fine line between hero and suck-up,” Sam runs a hand over his beard.

“Or Jo could go with the puppy eyes, I mean. If that’s still a thing.”

“Oh, it is. Most definitely.”

“Then she'll be fine.”

Sam nods and bites his lip.

“You know he's awake, right?” Sam says and when Cas doesn't answer, he adds: “Dean? He's probably wrapping up at the bar. He'll be up for another hour or two.”

Cas glances at his watch. It's a little past two.

“Well…” He trails off.

“He's gonna get upset if he finds out you're cheating on him.”

Cas tries to stick to his poker face and Sam grins.

“You're here, paying for your stuff when you could be having free food and drinks over at Rocky's?” Sam keeps sorta smiling but his eyes are fixed on his bourbon.

“Well…” Cas begins. “I…” He tries again. “It's kinda late.” Which it's technically true. And also, totally bullshit.

“So when was the last time you've seen him?”

“Uhm... A while back.”

“Like... Six years ago, right?”

“Uhm... Yes, I think so.” Some parts of those years are kinda all mushed together.

“So before Lisa.”

Sam makes eye contact and Cas doesn't like the feeling, the weight of his eyes on him.

“That's going to be interesting,” he almost mutters to himself. And Cas definitely doesn't like the sound of that.

“Is there something I should know?”

He grins. Widely. And it oozes sadness and bitterness all over.

“Did he make amends with you? When he visited you?”

So Sam has grown out of his shell and shed a few filters along the way. Good for him.

“We talked.”

“Buried the hatchet?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I guess you could. Otherwise you wouldn't have come, would you?”

Cas goes for a casual shrug.

“But he doesn't know you're already here. Otherwise, you wouldn't be _here_.”

Cas stares at him and says nothing at all.

“So there's still some awkwardness involved.”

Sam was aiming for the elephant sitting between them.

“I guess that makes two of us.” Cas takes a sip of his drink. It wasn't a question.

“I guess it does,” Sam runs his hand on the countertop.

“So, what's your excuse?” He adds.

“Well. Like I said before. Sometimes,” he pauses. “I need some space.” Another pause. “And some sleep --a small huff-- before coming back to Lawrence.”

He looks at him with candor and the thick, dense gravitas of someone who has seen a lot of shit in a short span of time. And Cas feels his heart breaking a little. Sammy is nowhere to be seen in the man sitting across from him right now. This is a different person with whom Cas happened to share some remote common ground with, but didn’t have the chance to actually meet. Something in his face must have alerted Sam of this particular train of thought because his demeanor shifts in a split second.

“I'm sorry,” his eyes go back to the glass in his hands. “This. This isn't how I pic--- I haven't seen you in ages and I, I didn't mean to make it awkward--- I'm not. I mean.” He sighs deeply. “I'm gonna shut up now.”

“It's really not that bad, Sam. A little cryptic, sure. A tinge sour, perhaps. But you know I'm not the one for small talk.”

He turns to look at him again.

“I'm just. Surprised to see you here, you know? After everything... That happened. Or, more like, didn't happen? I never knew what--- I never had the chance.” He cuts off. Then it’s Cas's time to frown.

“You know what? This not the time, nor the place. I should go to bed. Reset and update my social skills software,” he tries to shrug off some of the awkwardness.

“You look pretty good for someone sleep deprived.”

“The shower helped.”

“Yes, great water pressure. How did you get here? I hope not driving.”

“Took a cab from the airport. Are you still driving the Volkswagen?”

“I am.”

“That's,” he chuckles. “I thought, I caught a glimpse of a red beetle in the parking lot, and. I mean. You're not the only one driving one. But. I immediately thought. And I told myself, he wouldn't drive here from Seattle.” Sam's grinning more genuinely now, and Cas is strangely glad to see that. “I can't believe it's still running! How old is it?”

“She's a 65 model. Why? You make it sound like, it's a bad thing.”

“C'mon! It's a pretty old car!”

“It's a truly noble and reliable machine.”

“Now you sound just like him.”

“Is he still--?”

“Driving Baby? Of course! And with the same religious adoration. In fact, I think it got worse…”

“But how not to yield, Sam?”

“Right. Team Baby guy. Forgot about that.”

“I feel like you're suddenly too preachy about the subject. Now I must know. Wacha driving, huh?”

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Well right now, not much. Told you, I took a cab.”

“Oh. Don't play dumb. C'mon.”

“No, you'll make fun of me!”

“You started it!”

“A black Sedan,” he grimaced.

“A black...? Who _are_ you?”

Cas hears his own question and immediately freezes for a second. Well, of course this is not Sammy anymore, not the one he knew, with his witty comebacks and snarky comments and his nose deep in a book, the one with the red bike, scrawny knees and the tussled mop of hair... And some of that gravitas he perceived before suddenly doesn't seem odd at all.

“A real man in black…”

Sam seems to be taken aback for a second.

“I mean, I knew that.” Dean had mentioned it. Vaguely, because Dean never was one to gossip and because, lately, that is, since they quote-unquote buried the hatchet, he also managed to be as non committal as possible regarding Sam in particular. And at first Cas hadn't thought much about it, that is, when it became evident Dean was doing that, and although it was off putting, it made sense. Right? But now he couldn't help to think that there was, obviously, a lot more to it if Sam was being oblique as well.

“So... What happened to being a lawyer?”

Sam pouts and takes another sip of his bourbon.

“Well...,” he scratches his beard. “Stuff happened.”

These are the blank spaces. These right here are the holes Dean poked into his life. In both of their lives. And this is also a slippery slope. Deflect.

“Did you, how do you, do you apply for the FBI? I have literally no idea how it works.”

“Uhm... Actually... I was... recruited.”

“What? They still do that?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. And then?”

“Quantico…” Sam runs his hand through his hair and Cas gets the point, he's uncomfortable. “Then…” He trails off again.

“Stuff?” Cas fills in with a smile.

Sam nods, looking embarrassed.

“That's. That’s great, Sam.”

And now he's blushing.

“You know, for a G-man.”

“Of course,” he huffs with a tiny hint of a smile.

“I don't, uhm, I think you're the first FBI agent I know.”

“I think that's a good thing, Cas.”

“That you're my first?”

Sam laughs and hides his face on the crook of his elbow.

“Or the fact that I'm not doing anything illegal enough to come across one of you?”

Sam shakes his head and it's adorable.

“I have some follow up questions about your take on the legal spectrum,” he finishes his drink in one final gulp and rests his hands on the counter. “But right now, I think I have embarrassed myself enough here. So I'm gonna go upstairs and attempt to get some sleep.”

“Do you need, uhm, help?” Cas ventures and suddenly Sam pauses with a frown. “I have a good array of sleeping pills and stuff, legal stuff, if you need to... Get in the zone…”

“And what zone would that be? The _I'm not a hot mess zone_ perhaps?”

“No, that's another one. I was talking about the _I'm a normal human being with regular sleeping patterns_ one. But they do overlap in some areas. So, no foul.”

Sam chuckles again and stands up.

“Thank you, Cas. But, uhm, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Of course.”

“But thanks for offering.”

“Sure.”

Sam goes for his wallet, takes out a couple of bucks and puts them under his glass. “For the…” he gestures his glass and Cas's.

“You don't have to.”

“Seriously, let me. May I borrow your...?” He gestures the pen Cas has tugged on his notebook.

“Sure.”

“Thanks,” Sam says and takes out a business card out of his wallet. “This…” he scribbles something in the back. “Is my personal number. Would you text me when you wake up, please? And if I don't reply back in let's say in five minutes, would you be so kind as to give me a call? I really don't want to sleep through the day.”

“What room are you in?”

“404.”

“Ok. If you don't answer my call, I'll knock on your door.”

Sam seems to hesitate for a second.

“In a non threatening way,” Cas adds and Sam grins.

“You and your Jedi tricks, man.”

Cas shrugs casually.

“It's really good to see you, Cas.” Sam smiles warmly at him.

“It's really good to see you too, Sam.”

Sam is beaming at him now and Cas feels very self-aware all of the sudden.

“What?”

Sam takes a deep breath. “We keep meeting at insane hours.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Sam.”


	3. Meet and Greet

[ Sam ]

Cas texted him around 10 a.m. and he was tempted to wait it out, take five minutes and see what happens next. Instead, he replied back.

> _Thanks. I’m up._

He hadn’t slept all night. Just tossed and tumbled.

> _Wanna go grab a bite? I know a place._

He held his breath as Cas typed his answer.

> _Oh._

“C’mon.”

> _The mysterie._
> 
> _Well played._
> 
> _I’m listening._

He smiled at the succession of texts.

> _I’ll pick you up in 20. No spoilers._

He sat up and stretched.

> _I can be ready in 10._
> 
> _I’m really hungry_ AND _intrigued._

“I can make it in five,” Sam says at loud as he types.

> _Game on._

It was beautiful outside so Cas insisted they should walk, so they walk all the way to Missouri’s Dinner. It wasn’t Missouri’s dinner anymore, but her grandchild’s now. And Patience had a very good taste, so the place looked pretty cool now, only the good part seventies vibe still lingering. Sam instinctively cruised towards the table around the corner, the one by the window. They talked over the menu and only after the food arrived and Cas was moaning around the third bite of his PB&J the conversation shifted to more personal questions.

“How’s Anna?” Sam ventured after a sip of his coffee.

“She’s doing great. Has a few projects going on that claim her undivided attention, but she has always _loved_ the _pressure_ and the _stress_ of a challenge. She, she's thriving. It’s disgusting, really."

Sam huffs a small laugh.

“She's still in charge of _The Garrison_?”

“Yes, she’s. She’s doing amazing things. Anna's very talented and smart. I know it’s my sister, but.”

“Family trade, I guess?”

“Oh, no, no way. Anna is. Big Leagues. There’s no. Comparison.”

“Fishing for compliments much?” Sam chuckles and keeps working on his delicious pancakes. Cas burst into a raspy laughter.

“Are you cooking something?” Sam ventures not making eye contact.

“I… Have a few things boiling in the pot, yes.”

“Are you writing?” Cas tilts his head at the question but Sam doesn’t elaborate.

“Something like that,” Cas smiles like he just got something. “I was thinking about a compilation of street art. Some pictures but mostly text.”

“What do you call street art?”

“Oh, you know. Graffitis, things you can read carved or paint in a bathroom door in a club. Random things, random places. Mostly things that I had encountered over the years myself. Like... wait, let me, just,” Cas takes out his notebook. He scans a few pages and glances quickly in his direction before continuing. “For example. This is just a few days back. In the back of a seat on the subway, OK? Listen: _You will rarely look like an angel again. We tore everything, everything,_ ” he pauses. “And the inicial C.”

“Wow… That’s…”

“And, I’ve been reading this person or persons all over the city. For _years_. And it’s not just them. I mean. Some of it is anonymous, of course, but there’s a lot that it isn’t. I think I just need to look closer but, honestly, I don’t know where to start. I’m really interested about the writing process behind it, you know? But, the person? Forget the author. The poet, the artist...” He trails off as he takes a sip of his coffee. “That’s a whole other story.”

“You could ask around. Someone, somewhere must know who she is.”

“You think it’s a she?” Cas smiles inquisitively.

“Oh, uhm, well. Not necessarily. I just, I had that impression.”

“Hmm,” Cas nods and writes down something. “You think it is possible?”

“What thing?”

“Find out who the subway poet is.”

“Well, you could try tracking their activity. You said you’ve been reading them for years now. Map it out. And try to figure out the pattern. Does C rides that train everyday? What about the other trains? Is it just something happening in public transportation? You could talk to the people on the trains. Definitely ask all employees on the train company and the station. They see a lot, more than you’d think.”

Cas keeps nodding, Sam can see the wheel turning inside his head.

“And keep a journal of that process. That alone is a great story. Even if you hit a few dead ends along the way. Even if you never find them. I would read that.”

“Maybe you should pitch the idea to Anna, Sam,” Cas points at him with his pen. “Maybe she’ll publish me then,” he adds, flipping the pages. He finds a blank space and starts taking notes.

“Are you seriously taking notes?” Sam peers over the table.

“Hm-mmm,” Cas keeps squinting at the notebook.

“Then I want a cut.”

Cas cackles, writes two more lines and closes the notebook with emphasys.

“And I thought you said law was not your thing anymore,” Cas crunches his nose and goes back to his breakfast.

“I had the impression you need me to pitch the idea to your publisher! I’m sure we can arrive to some kind of arrangement,” Sam retorts arching his eyebrow.

“I can send you free copies if I ever get it done and published.”

“Deal,” Sam clinks his coffee with Cas’s cup. Cas does that stupid head tilt again and sighs.

“I think this is the moment where I would ask _what about your job_ but I got this distinct vibe last night that you don’t like to talk about it.”

Sam mimics with his fork the same gesture Cas did just a moment ago.

“Sorry about that,” he adds and takes a bite of his pancakes. It’s a good thing Patience followed the original recipe. He washes it down with some coffee and after a beat, he continues. “What would you like to know?”

“It’s OK. We can skip that.”

“No, c’mon. It’s OK. Seriously. And I’m sorry about last night. I was. Besides sleep deprived. You caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to be cryptic. Definitively not sour.”

“No, I know. And it’s OK, really.”

Sam sits up straight. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. Somehow, it’s not the same during the day. “I’m currently in the Violent Crime Unit. Human Trafficking task force. It’s not. Something… You discuss over...” He trails off.

Cas just stares at him and after a moment, he nods.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, you and me,” Cas mutters almost to himself. Sam nods silently at his cup of coffee.

“I don’t think you wanna know,” Sam grins like he’s apologizing for something. Maybe he is. Cas stares at him for a moment.

“And there’s not much I can tell you anyways,” Sam tries to defuse the tension princkling between his shoulders blades.

“Alright, Martha.” Cas nods through squinty eyes. “Focus on your pancakes,” he adds with a smile. He understands. He does. But at the same time he wants to know. He has always been like that.

* * *

**[ Sam ]**

I know I’ve been staring at that building longer than I thought because Dean has almost finished with his pancakes. I take a bite (they’re cold) and go back to the second to last row, third window from the left.

“What are you looking at, baby?” Mom runs her hand through my hair and I lean against her touch. I point at the building across the street.

“What about it?”

“It looks like my ant farm. Only, with people.”

Missouri huffs and shakes her head. I look at Mom and she’s looking out, leaning slightly over me. I think she’s looking at the same windows I was.

“What are they doing?” I ask her.

“Oh, honey,” Missouri says like I said something funny. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know,” she chuckles and drinks her tea. Mom looks at me and smiles. I feel the need to hug her. Dean calls my name. I turn to him and he’s leaning over the table.

“If you can see them,” he whispers. “That means they can see you too,” he grins widely, like he knows a secret. Missouri is talking to Mom. Mom keeps her hand in my hair.

I think about what Dean just said.

“I don’t think they know we’re here,” I say and Dean shrugs at that.

Mom rubs my scalp with the tip of her fingers. It feels nice.

* * *

“By the way, this is the best peanut butter jelly sandwich I had probably all my life,” Cas says around a mouthful. “They never have grape jelly. I can’t. This makes me very happy.”

“You should at least try the pancakes, though.”

“Of course. I’m just warming up.”

Cas grins widely now, like he has a second stomach ready to go. And maybe he does.

[ Cas ]

They missed the bachelor party and Cas suspected he wasn’t the only one who was grateful for that. After the breakfast they had for lunch (he wouldn’t dare to say brunch), they strolled lazily around the city caught up in an effortless conversation about nothing too personal. They made a quick bathroom stop in a coffee shop and bought a snack they ate on a park bench. Cas texted Dean, Sam called Jo first, then John. The plan was to have dinner at the farm but Dean suggested they all meet at Rocky’s for drinks instead. So they went back to the hotel, Cas took a nap, then showered and waited for Sam to pick him up by his room. He might or might not had totally checked him out as they made their way to his Beetle.

“I don’t think I’ll fit,” Sam said after a beat, standing by the door.

“There’s plenty of room for you,” he replied waving his hand dismissively. “And your inhuman proportions.”

 _Rocky’s_ is quintessentially Dean. Big, bright, beautiful, loud and fun. Jo and Adam were already waiting for them inside in the far corner of the long mahogany bar counter. Jo squealed at the sight of her brother and jumped him (she barely left his side all night). Cas knew he sounded like an old weird uncle, but he couldn’t help to think _Oh my god Jo is so grown up_ and, subsequently _I’m so old_. Jo introduced Adam to them both and immediately went to fetch Dean.

He materialized out of thin air. Maybe not. Cas wasn’t ready either way. Dean looked good. Dean always looked good. Dean would look good even in a coffin.

“Dean,” he said as a way to break the spell.

Dean grinned and shook his head like Cas said something funny. Next thing he knew, Dean was squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“Good to see ya, buddy,” he muttered next to his ear and kissed the side of his head. Cas pat his back awkwardly. Dean let go, only to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “People skills little rusty, Cas?”

“Only distorted as your perception of personal space.”

Dean laughs with his whole body and smacks his shoulder.

“C’mere, bitch. Bring it in,” Dean points out to Sam and makes the grabby hands. Sam takes a step closer and puts his long arms around him. Dean extends his arm and signals Jo.

“You too, baby girl.”

“I’m so glad we’re _here_!” Jo exclaims loudly after breaking up the hug.

“That bad, huh?” Sam kisses the top of her head.

“ _So_ many uncomfortable questions and embarrassing stories. On a _loop_ , Sammy” Jo gags. Sam squeezes her closer and kisses the top of her head. Cas can’t help to go all mushy inside. They were always so adorable together.

“You shouldn’t harass your relatives like that, Jo,” Sam scolds her with zero conviction. Jo giggles with her face buried in his side.

“Well, it certainly worked,” Dean waved his hand like it wasn’t a big deal. “Ellen practically begged me to get these two fruit loops out the house.”

“And she gave me fifty bucks,” Jo sounds very pleased with herself.

“Atta girl,” says Dean with a prideful smug. Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

 _Fucking psychos_.

They hang out and engage in one big conversation that sometimes breaks down into little conversations that then merge with another little conversation, just to open up again. And so on. And in the meantime, Dean keeps their glasses full and keeps the food coming. By the time Lisa joins them, Cas is a little more than buzz.

“Babe, this is Castiel Novak. Cas, Lisa Braeden, my fiance.”

“Nice to meet you, Lisa, and congratulations on your wedding,” Cas smiles and shakes the hand of a beautiful (and maybe a little blurry) brunette.

“Thank you! I heard so much about you!” She chimes over the music. Cas looks at Dean, if only briefly, searching something, he’s not sure what. But Dean is paying attention to something Jo’s saying.

“Hi Lisa, how are you?” Sam takes a step forward to greet her with a kiss.

“Hi Sam! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Cas, Cas,” Jo calls him. “Can you tell them the story? The story about your name?” She turns to Adam and keeps going. “His mom gave him and his sister a human and an angel name. And Cas is the angel of Thursdays. But Dean made us call him James all summer because he’s a jerk. But I didn’t care, because I kinda hated him. But then he rescued my cat, so I invited him to my tea party. We were cool after that.”

“Wait, what? You invited _him_? You never invited _us_!”

“I was invited.”

“You invited _Sam_?”

“You fucked up my dolls, Dean. You uninvited yourself.”

“It was a _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ reenactment, Joanna!”

“Wait, you’re James Novak? He’s James Novak?”

“Someone is finally catching up with the program.”

“Shuddap Dean!” Jo shoves him.

“Oh my God! Jo read me _I Was The Theater Kid_. Oh my God, I laughed so hard! I wrote an essay about that essay and my English Professor _liked_ it, and she doesn’t like anything! You _have_ to read it,” Adam looks at Lisa and then back at Jo. “What’s the name of the book?”

“ _The Little Voice of the World_ ,” Jo and Sam reply at the same time.

“You should listen to his radio show,” Dean points a finger to Adam.

“Oh, you still do radio?” Lisa is still one big smile.

“Yes, I know. Sounds weird. But. That’s still a thing,” Cas staggers just a little bit.

“Isn’t that how you met? Back in college?” She turns to Dean.

“We actually had several classes together but Cas hated my guts. Ash was the one who managed to put us in the same room and forced him to talk to me.”

“Ash!” Cas laughs with his whole body.

“Babe, you’d love him. Really peculiar guy with a mohawk, which I know for a fact he kept to this day. He had a radio show off campus back then.”

“One big electrocution hazard.”

“It was sorta... an underground gig. He called it the Bunker.”

“It was a _basement_.”

“ _Really_ cool guy. And he had a segment on his show, I think the name was _Double Take_ or _Take two_ or somethin’. And he would pick a topic and invite two students to discuss it from different points of view. So this one time, the topic was the 70’s, so Ash called a guy who was supposed to talk about something and he called me, you know, 70’s music. Now, _that_ much I remember. But how did Ash ended up calling you?”

“I was Balthazar’s backup plan,” Cas points out and watches Dean’s demeanor change for a split second.

“Oh, honey, back then De was a _rock musician_ ,” Jo pretends to whisper to Adam.

“Shuddap, Jo,” Dean pokes her.

“He wrote me like a dozen lullabies. Have you heard him sing?” She turns to Lisa, “He’s _really_ good.”

“Oh, I keep asking him but he never does!”

“You should put that in the pre-nup.”

“Don’t give her ideas.”

“You were saying, Dean?”

“Yes, thank you Adam. So Cas comes instead, but I didn’t know he was the backup. _Jesus_ , I remember Cas’s face when he walked down the stairs and saw me. He looked _so_ disappointed.”

“That’s not true,” says Cas but Dean goes on.

“And I’m like, _this guy really hates my guts. This is gonna suck ass_. And he acknowledges me with a tiny nod. Like, _hey_. And I think I should defuse the situation and break the ice, right? And like, I had heard about him _and_ I had a little bit of his family background, so I go something like, _are you gonna talk about Rod McKuen, James_. He was James for me back then. And he narrows his eyes, kinda pissed. And he replies, dead serious, _bitch please_ and takes off his hoodie and he’s wearing this pink vintage ABBA cropped t-shirt. And I find it so jarring, that I immediately cracked. And just like that, he’s talking to me, making eye contact, not too much but plenty enough considering."

“And we never did the interview.”

"No, we didn't! We, oh my god, we did this 30 minutes acoustic version of ‘American Pie’, and Cas kept changing the lyrics, and I swear, he hit every single folk song topic ever written. Five minutes in Ash is laughing so hard, he has to use his asma thingy. And this _asshole_ keeps spilling unbelievable BS without missing a beat. It was _awesome_!”

“That sounds hilarious!”

“It was _insane_. So Ash kept inviting us. And we ended up having a 15 minutes segment every Thursday. And people would call and pick a genre and a topic, and we improvise a song basically. We, we were _The Good Ol’Boys_ , Whiskey,” Dean points at himself. “And Rye,” he gestures Cas.

“Dean _Rocko_ Whiskey and James _Three Fingers_ Rye,” Cas says before he can stop himself.

“That basement, man. It _reeked_.” Dean huffs, all soft around the eyes. “Good times…” He trails off.

Something inside of him coils, stretching and pushing against his diaphragm.

“And that’s pretty much what I currently do for a living, if you can believe it,” Cas focuses his eyes on Lisa and swallows hard.

“You know what they say, you can take the weirdo out of the basement,” Dean is one big shit eating grin.

“But you can’t stop him from recycling the cliche,” Cas follows through like it’s scripted.

Lisa laughs and looks back at Dean, resting her head on his shoulder.

“What’s the name of your show now?” She obliges.

“ _What goes around_ ,” Dean replies and holds her closer. “KEXP, midnight on weekdays, right?”

He nods.

“Cool,” Adam mutters and takes his phone out.

“Here, this is the app,” Sam shows Adam his phone and Adams starts to type.

“Cas, Cas, can you tell us the story about _The Garrison_? That’s the name of their publishing company. Remember I told you about the Edlunds?

“Joanna Beth, are you gonna let him tell the story?” Dean chastises.

“ _Sam_ , Dean is bullying me.”

“Dean is letting you drink way more than you’re allowed, so you should show your big brother some respect.”

“ _Saaam_ , Dean is talking in the third person.”

And suddenly, it’s on. Adam listens to the bickering and the roasting for a moment and then turns to Lisa and him.

“Are they always like this?” He gestures the Winchesters.

“No,” says Lisa, all sweet and reassuring.

“It gets worse,” says Cas and takes another swing at his rye.

***

“Lisa seems nice,” Cas keeps staring at the night sky through the passenger window. They are on their way to the hotel, windows rolled down, elbows propped on the side. Somehow Sam ended up as the designated driver. Good. He’s trying to sober up a little, but it’s proving to be a hard task.

“What did she say she does?”

“Yoga instructor,” Sam says, eyes on the road. He’ll have to readjust the car seat tomorrow.

“Oh, right.”

Sam says nothing at all.

“Thank God for smoke breaks. I was getting a little claustrophobic inside. Is it always so packed?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know,” Sam sighs. “I haven’t been there a lot, so...”

The Beetle engine keeps humming, the air night feels cool on his skin, Sam’s profile looks strangely sharper than anything else around him.

“Is this talk making you uncomfortable?” Cas glances at him.

“No, no!” Sam huffs a little, but he looks a little stiff nonetheless.

“You look a little stiff. That’s why I ask.”

“I feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I’ve been having a massive déjà vu all night.”

Cas chuckles at that.

“It’s just a glitch on your temporal lobe, Sam. Nothing to be worried about. Unless you wanna get more... schizoteric.”

“Schizoteric?”

“Half schizoid, half esoteric.”

He huffs and shakes his head.

“I think it’s just, you know, we haven’t been in the same room for over a decade…” He trails off.

“Oh, yes. _That_ ,” Cas looks out the window again. “Yet the world didn’t end,” he adds after a moment.

“No, it didn’t,” Sam echoes but he doesn’t sound very amused.


	4. (Category is) Rehearsal Dinner Carnival Extravaganza

[ Cas ]

He thought it would be pretty standard business, three courses dinner with a questionable playlist. Oh. Oh. Oh. _Okay_. His inner child was gagging at the sight. It was a freaking carnival. First of all, there was a parking lot that looked too good to be improvised. He parked, killed the engine and stared ahead. The sun was starting to set and it all looked goddamn magical.

“That’s...” He sighs more dramatically that he intended. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I might require your assistance to navigate this uhm, madness. Someone has to keep me from being me, _please_.”

Sam huffs and his dimples made a great appearance.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure,” Sam replies, patting his pockets. “I could really use a decoy.” He gives him a small grin and he gets out of the Beetle.

“I’m offended by how easily you’re willing to throw me under the bus,” Cas closes the door a little bit louder for emphasis. “I pity your partner.”

“I’ll make sure to tell her you said that.”

Sam keeps grinning and waits for him to catch up.

“It’s just protocol,” Sam mutters with a little shrug. He looks tense as fuck.

“You look tense as fuck.”

Sam laughs under his breath.

“Just because it’s my family, doesn’t mean I have the upper hand. We need to find Jo, she’ll keep them at bay.”

They make their way to the back of the house.

“I can be the designated driver tonight,” he offers.

“You sure?” Sam scratches his beard (now carefully trimmed).

“Yeah, go ahead. Live a little. Embarrass yourself in front of your family and friends. Fuck protocol, it’s what I always say.”

Sam laughs at loud now and lightly shoves him.

There must have been at least a hundred guests (but his brain tends to hyperbole, so that’s not a reliable appreciation). The barn had been totally revamped. Strings of lights were decorating the ceilings, even the giant oak tree between the house and the barn. Cas immediately recognized the sound of a live band performing inside. There was probably a dance floor. Beneath the oak there was a long, long outdoor table where a few guests were sitting, most of them opted to stand in small groups scattered through the grass. If this was the rehearsal, Cas wondered how the actual ceremony would look like.

He followed Sam as he diligently greeted a lot of relatives and friends, saving him the trouble of an introduction. Sam kept a friendly tone and posture with everybody, like he was going through the motions on autopilot, easy peasy, which spared him some social anxiety by proxy. He chatted with Ellen and John a little longer. Then he had the chance to catch up with Bobby (he really liked Bobby). Stress decreased remarkably when Jo and Adam joined them. There was safety in numbers. Eventually, Dean and Lisa made their way to their clic but only linger for a moment before moving to the next group. Dean was dressed in a light grey neat summer suit and Lisa wore a beautiful baby pink dress.

They looked good together. They looked happy together.

A bell chimed somewhere, and a voice over the speakers announced dinner was served. As to be expected, it wasn’t a three course schtick, why would it be? Two food trucks and what it looked like a bar on wheels (a drink truck? Was that a thing?) were parked just around the tree.

“Oh my God,” Cas muttered to himself.

“Go big or go bigger,” Sam shrugged.

By midnight, he’s exhausted. The band keeps playing (the second band, that is). Sam and Jo are on the dancefloor, puppy eyes maneuver in between, Bobby is nowhere to be seen and Adam’s on his phone, a little sleepy, a little high and drunk.

“I think I’m gonna stretch my legs, you OK there?”

“Yeah,” Adam smiles widely. “I’m just _really_ into cat videos, man.”

“Completely understandable, my friend. Go at it.”

Cas sneaks out the cigarettes and the lighter from Sam jacket and takes off in the direction of the pond.

This whole freaking night. He’s sure the acute _unheimlich_ he’s experiencing right now is the logical result of the sheer amount of memories intertwined with the background of this particular scene. The farm feels so familiar and yet so alien. He can see Dean’s hand in every little new detail, the pebble stone path leading to the (definitively new) deck, the sutil outdoor lights scattered along the way, the cut grass and pruned foliage surrounding the shores. It looks effortlessly beautiful. Just like him.

* * *

[Extract from a letter to Anna]

_Given the uniqueness of the literary work, we can see why, in the first stage of his career, Blanchot had spoken about the importance of the writer's loneliness. Loneliness refers to the way in which a literary work and its elaboration process are isolated from everything else, even if, as often happens, it alludes to other works. Loneliness means that whoever reads the work will experience its unique character. Loneliness is the way the work speaks, a way of speaking that is also the writer's silence. Blanchot slightly varies the phrase and says that the work is the means for the writer's silence to take shape. According to his fondness for the rhetorical figure of the oxymoron, silence becomes the author's way of speaking. Since it is within an oeuvre, partly produced by his conscious or unconscious desire, the discovery of the form of that oeuvre is interesting for the author and the reader. The work is a source of fascination for the writer, precisely because it is not consciously determined. Only the specific work is. Fascination is the look of loneliness at the oeuvre. The source of fascination par excellence is the image. Interestingly, Blanchot does not automatically accept that the image is a smooth reflection of the object. The image, which is essentially visual, is a way of capturing the object by distancing, or reification._

_That said, I met someone._

* * *

“Cheater,” Dean sits down besides him, feet dangling from the edge.

“Technically, it’s not cheating,” Cas shows him the untouched cigarette and the lighter. “I’m just contemplating the idea.”

“Like that’s not your _third_.”

“Oh, bite me!” Cas huffs and Dean shoves him lightly.

“Are you having a good time?”

“I had never, _ever_ , even _heard_ of a carnival themed rehearsal dinner. First, I wanna know where the hell did you get all those vintage games and where can I buy a custom printed cornhole board, but most importantly, do you think they can build it in the shape of Gabriel’s head? And, also, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Fuck you! I’m a Golden God,” Dean sways his hand at him. “I’ve been pulling gigs like this for _years_. I know my shit.”

“Well, you know what they say, know thyself...” Cas huffs.

“Know thy shit,” Dean snorts and scratches his chin.

“I’m glad it’s working for you, Dean.”

He frowns for a second.

“You’re good, Cas. You’re doing good. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Cas nods.

“Are _we_ good, Cas?” Dean turns to face him. Cas mimics him and it’s a staring contest after that.

“I think there’s room for improvement,” he deadpans.

“Fuck!” _Smack_. “You!” _Punch_. “ _Asshole_!” Dean shoves him and starts laughing with his whole body. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“I promise myself I wouldn’t.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean’s heaving now.

“You know it wasn’t actually my first blowjob, right? I was just too embarrassed to admit it,” Cas continues. “I never had any complaints about my head before. Or after, for that matter.”

“Dude, stop!” Dean’s face is all red now.

“That’s what you said. We’re going full circle, Dean!”

“ _Yousonofabitch_!” He clutches his ribs. “ _Fuuuck…_ ”

“Well, there’s your answer,” he brings the cigarette to his lips and lights it. “We can joke about it,” he takes a long draft and slowly blows the smoke up to the stars.

* * *

**[ Cas ]**

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, c'mon! Don't play the socially clueless card, OK? Just cut the crap, man!”

“Cut what? What are--?”

“I'm talking about Sam! My kid brother Sam! The nineteen years old kid you keep hitting on!”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“For fuck's sake, Cas! You've been all over him since he set a foot here! Seriously, what the actual fuck?”

“First of all, and let's be perfectly clear about it, I don't have to explain shit to you. OK? I don't. I'm going to, however, because for the love of me, I don't know what on Earth has gotten into you--”

“What's gotten into me? Are you shitting me?”

“What you seem to call 'to be all over', it's actually what the rest of the world calls to hang out.”

“Don't patronize me!”

“Then don't act like a child with a tantrum!”

“Don't fuck with me, Cas! I'm not in the mood!”

“What do you want from me, Dean? Why are we even having this conversation?”

“Get. Off. My. Brother.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hit on--”

“You hit on my sister all the time.”

“That's different.”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me.”

“Don't turn it into a gay thing! It's not a gay thing!”

“Wow. You manage to be so disrespectful on so many levels, Dean. It's a _remarkable_ talent.”

“So what if I flirt with her sometimes? It's not the same! She’s dating Gabriel, I’m with Bella, it’s just a game, it doesn't mean anything!”

“That's a comforting thought.”

“She knows that, I know that, no one gets hurt!”

“So you think I'm going to hurt Sam, is that it?”

“You are if you keep leading him on.”

“Leading him on to what exactly?”

“Sam's not gay!”

“So it is a gay thing.”

“It is if you want to bone my brother!”

“So it is an issue.”

“It's not an issue if you stop!”

“If I stop what? _Talking_ to your brother?”

“Yes!”

“So everything is fine as long as I do what you want me to do regardless of what I want and, I may add, regardless of what Sam wants? And let’s be perfectly clear about it, we were just watching a movie.”

“You had your hands all over him! Look man, it's not that hard. Sam's a kid, I don't want you messing up with his head.”

“Like I messed up with yours?”

“You know what I mean.

“I lost track of the plot three seasons ago, _pal_.”

“Do you, do you think this is easy for me? Do you think it has been a jolly ride? Half of the time I'm shit scared of your mood swings. And I spend the other half apologizing for shit I didn’t even do! And you talking to me 'bout losing track of the plot, buddy? Please, give me a fucking break!”

“I can't give you more than I've already have, Dean.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking…”

“What do you call this, huh? This, this _thing_ we have? How would you describe this thing between us? Because you seem so attune with what’s what. Except with me. I’m just one big grey area.”

“I would have called it a friendship, but that was before you put your paws all over my baby brother.”

“Hilarious. Please explain something to me: you put your paws all over people, including myself, but that doesn’t seem to scandalize you nearly as much. I wonder why.”

“So you are doing it on purpose? Are you trying to prove a point through my brother? Is this another teachable moment by the great James Novak? What did I do to deserve such honor? I’m humbled.”

“Look around, Dean. Do you see anybody else here? Who the _fuck_ are you talking to? Because sure as hell it ain’t me.”

“Oh, I see you, Maria.”

“I do everything that you ask, Dean. I’m always on your side. And I am your friend. Always.”

“So tell me, you wanna fuck all your friends or is it just a Winchester thing?”

“Excuse you?”

“No, please, tell me. I must know. Would any Winchester work for you? Me, Sam, wanna fuck with Jo too?”

“Wow.”

“Or maybe it's how you understand friendship. Which is actually kinda sad, kinda disgusting. But, hey. Your human skills were always a little rusty, right?”

“ _Wow_. You're such an asshole.”

“Someone has to, Cas. Everyone else bends over to cater you. Kiss the ground beneath your feet, jerk off your ego 24/7.”

“Oh my God! You sit at my table every single day! You're the one who said that we were like family! Why are we even fighting?”

“It’s like fucking Groundhog Day, goddammit!”

“Is that… Is that how you feel?”

“Yes, that’s what I feel, Cas. I’m trapped in a monster-of-the-week time loop with you.”

“Trapped? _Trapped_? That’s. Wow. I see. Wow.”

“Don’t be cheap. Stop crying.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Cas, c’mon.”

“I would _never_ hold you back. Never dream of it. You were always free to do whatever you want, Dean. Free will. You demand it. But you don’t _actually_ know what to do with it.”

“Because you’re so good with it, right?”

“I know I’m fucked up. I told you so myself. The difference is I’m not scared to admit it and never acted otherwise. You can’t even conceive the idea that you might be wrong.”

“You want me to play the bad guy? Is that it?”

“No!”

“Then what, Cas? Lay it down on me, man. Cause you keep changing the fucking rules of the game and I just can’t keep up anymore!”

“This was never a game for me, Dean. Where, where are you going?”

“I’m tired. I’m just so tired of this.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Don’t walk away. Please.”

“We can’t keep doing this, Cas. I can’t keep doing this.”

“Dean, please.”

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

“You know I never hate you, right?”

Dean looks at him like he doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

“You said it last night. That I hated you.”

“You pointedly ignored me a whole semester. And then some.”

“Not because I hated you, you know that.”

Dean sighs and slowly nods twice.

“What about later?”

Cas shakes his head.

“C’mon, Cas. No one is _that_ nice.”

“I was never nice. I’m not a nice person. I’m just a person. A person that never hated you.”

Dean nods slightly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I wish I could. That would have made things _so_ much easier. If only, Mama. But when did I _ever_ make things easier for myself, right?”

Dean stares at him, suddenly very still.

“It took me awhile to rebuild my self-worth after you, Dean. That happened, and I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I wouldn't expect you to.”

“Or forget you ever saw me at my best.”

“I know, Cas.”

“But I want you to know that I never hate you.”

Dean hums, pursing his lips.

“It’s just. Dangerous. To fall so young.”

Dean exhales long and loud.

“But you made me very happy,” Cas pads the pack of cigarettes and sighs. He’ll have to get Sam at least two packs on the way back to compensate. “Even when you were a huge pain in my ass most of the time,” he pauses. “It’s not a metaphor,” he adds as an afterthought. Dean slaps a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re such a dick!” He whisper-yells.

“You taught me well.”

Dean hides his face with his hand and wheezes.

“I’m not going to insult your intelligence and pretend it’s not bothering me, because it is. And I don’t want to fixate on this later on. So, if I can be honest, I really need to know...”

“Shoot.”

Cas takes the last cigarette out, lights it up, and takes one good draft.

“How did you know it was my third?”

[ Sam ]

Just like the night before, they drive back to the hotel with the windows down. Cas has one hand on the wheel, the other one out the window.

“Do you miss living in the country?” Cas asks out of nowhere. Sam thinks about it for a minute.

“I miss the trees.”

“They don’t have trees in Detroit?”

“Not in my backyard.”

Sam thinks about his current apartment. It’s very similar to the previous one, and surely it will be the next one.

“I don’t have a backyard. I don’t even have a houseplant,” he smiles involuntaraly remembering the multiple times Rowena scolded him for killing all the plants she insisted on giving him.

“Not much of a green thumb?”

“I move a lot,” which is a pinch of truth diluted in a tall glass of bullshit. Cas spares him a quick glance but doesn’t push further.

“I miss having a dog,” he trails off for a second. “And the general smell. My place smells like somebody else lives there,” he trails off again. “Sometimes I find it disturbing. But the farm always smells nice, even when it doesn’t.”

“Yet you stay in a hotel.”

“Just because you miss it, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

“That’s what I tell myself after a bad date,” Cas spares him a tiny grin. He nods and looks out the window again.

“What else do you find disturbing?” Cas ventures after a minute.

“People who write everything in all caps. Hurts my brain.”

Cas chuckles and silence stretches again for a long mile.

“Last year, I got hurt on the job. My Dad, uhm, he, you know we have a history of bumping heads, and he already hated de Bureau, but he was beyond pissed when he found out. He didn’t speak to me for over two months. And even after that... Things have been weird between us. And Dean. Jo doesn’t know, I didn't want to upset her. I guess, I just, I didn’t feel like dealing with that right now. If that answers your question.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sam,” Cas frowns. “How bad was it?”

“What thing?”

“How bad were you hurt?”

“Oh,” he pauses. “Pretty bad.” And that's an understatement.

“Are you alright now?” Cas keeps glancing at him, like he’s expecting to catch him in a lie. Sam nods, mindlessly rubbing his thighs.

“I am now.”

Cas nods and keeps his eyes fixed on the road. “I’m glad to hear that,” his voice is barely a whisper.

It’s not just an impression, words come out easier during the late hours of the night. Especially with some alcohol involved. Or maybe it’s just Cas.

“And, just to spice things up a little bit more, our cousin Gwen cancelled at the last minute. Put on a show. If you can believe that.”

“Why would she?”

“Because apparently my family just _loves_ the drama,” he shakes his head. “And Gwen is trying to prove a point.”

“Which is?”

“The Feud between the Winchesters and the Campbells is real,” he snorts and runs a hand over his face. “Dad thinks Samuel is the reason I joined the FBI.”

“I thought your grandfather was a State Trooper like your mom.”

“Yes, a retired State Trooper. Not relevant.”

“So by extension, it’s Samuel’s fault you got hurt?”

“As far as my Dad is concern, he pulled the fucking trigger.”

“So Dean just chopped him off the guest list but not your cousins?”

“I don’t know. I was not part of that particular conversation.”

“Sounds like the wedding became the perfect occasion to pledge allegiance to either side of the fence,” Cas nods.

“Precisely,” he sighs deeply and takes his hand out the window.

“Where does _that_ leave you?”

“Nowhere.”

Cas spares him a quick glance.

“Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in!” Cas says in his best Al Pacino impersonation and Sam actually chuckles.

“Are you trying to cheer me up?” Sam asks looking out.

“Is it working?” Cas sounds hopeful.

“Like a charm,” he hums and lets his eyes wander along the I-70.


	5. It’s like rain on your wedding day

[ Cas ]

It was raining cats and dogs by the time they arrived at the Redemptorist Catholic Church. The storm cooked up over breakfast and now it felt down in a straight line, heavy and warm, with that weird yellowish eerie tint of a summer storm. He sat down with The Clic, as he mentally named the Sam-Jo-Adam-Him Assemble. He engaged in some small talk (call fucking Noah, tell’im to bring the kayak) and then he just spaced out. Looking up to the ornate vaulted ceilings and columns, with the chandeliers pouring a soft golden light over the heavy Catholic imagery, plus the occasional flash of lighting behind the intricately patterns of the stained glass windows, and the echo of thunders rumbling and reverberating through his bones, Cas couldn’t help but to think that the set up was altogether maybe a little bit too dramatic. He logged back in when he felt Sam slightly touching his shoulder, indicating it was time to get moving. Jo and Adam tagged alone (where’s the rest of the car, Cas?) and they made quite a gag climbing out of the Beetle when they reached the Grand Hall at Power and Light, where the reception was going to take place.

If the rehearsal dinner was a carnival extravaganza, the reception was aesthetically the opposite. It was old school, classic art deco venue, a neat color palette in tune with tasteful flowers arrangements, three courses meal (with a vegan and a gluten free option) and dessert (fancy chocolate strawberry fantasy sorbet) plus the hipster barmans with signature cocktails, incredible wardrobe looks, with an Impressed Your WASP In-laws with Old Hollywood Jazzy Nostalgia Playlist playing in the background at a perfectly reasonable volumen. And Dean was in a tux, a modern cut, sure, but. A tux nonetheless.

“This is so not my gig,” Jo whispers to Cas after finishing Adam’s sorbet.

“I find the portions unsettling. It makes me feel ashamed of myself,” Cas echoes Jo’s frown. “I want an industrial size, 20 litres bucket of this right here. And I want to move there and start a cult. Jo, this is just _not_ enough.”

“ _I know!”_ Jo mouths and Sam chuckles next to them.

“You can have mine, but you have to share it,” he reaches out with his bowl.

“Thank you, Sam,” Jo gives him a big smile and gets the bowl between her and Cas.

A blonde lady in a tight black dress and pearl earrings pops out of nowhere and taps Sam's shoulder.

“Two minutes,” she mutters.

“Oh, OK,” Sam buttons up his jacket and stands up. He squares his shoulders and trails after her.

“Where’s he going?” Cas asks around the spoon in his mouth.

“Speech?” Jo shrugs.

“Juggling?” Cas mimics her shrug and Jo loses it.

“Or maybe he’ll fight a bear, you know, for entertainment purposes,” he continues.

“Maybe he’s gonna lip sync,” Adam pitches in.

“Uh! Lip sync _drag_ battle!” Jo yips.

That makes him cackle and two people in the next table turn to glance at him.

“Like I said before,” Jo rolls her eyes and licks her spoon clean.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he sighs and surveys the room. He spots Sam at the distance. He sure looks handsome tonight.

* * *

[ Excerpt from the book _The Little Voice of the World_ by James Novak ]

“In the privacy of speech”

The experience of poetry springs very early in the life of the human being, a moment before the appropriation of language, when crude still, we express ourselves in the scream, the cry, the laughter, the echolaliae with their repetitive catena full of nuances and the first syllabic acquisitions that mix and hybridize creating a border language, owner of rhythmic capacities, of a significant power that we will never be able to match later. There we know that language sings and that it comes not only from our head, but also from our body, from the murmur of blood and the breath in our lungs; a living thing in continuous movement and consonance that intersects in synchrony, contiguity, harmony with the vast whisper emitted by the living and even the mechanical. Prisoners and saved at the same time in the vicinity of the voice.

The socialization process to which we are subjected progressively drift us apart from this first experience of speech and mother of poetry. But not entirely. The bitter with the sweet: we lose a lot and we gain a lot. The nostalgia of that primitive moment, our birth to language tied to the voice and time as present tense, returns every day, every moment, and finds ways to express itself in everyday speech. We see it in countless situations, every time the formal codes of socialization, broadly founded and built to repress it, lose strength. We see its reappearance in collective spaces such as football fields and mass mobilizations, bars and music venues, schools, offices, factories, and prisons, the streets, the subway, the mall; but also in its intimate face, when we have nothing to fear, when there is trust and the tongue is unleashed, with friends, with lovers; in the deepest intimacy, language links its first experience to the present and only cares about its meaning as a sacred secret, deep within us, that we want to give or receive from another as if it were a communion.

And there we experience again, very closely, what we call poetry. (…)

* * *

[ Sam ]

“I want to tell you a story about a Winchester tradition. I promise it will make sense at the end, so, bear with me here, please. Uhm, so. When Dean got his driver license and Dad bequeathed him with Baby, he started driving us to school on a daily basis. And, one of those days, I think maybe it was the second week with Baby. I remember it was Tuesday and it had snowed during the night, but the roads were clear, so we had to go to school anyways. When we reach the third stop sign, Dean turns around to address Jo in the back seat, and goes ‘Hey Jojo, wanna take a shortcut?’ And Jo goes, ‘sure’. So Dean takes a turn. And then another one, and he just keeps driving. And Jo's frowning in the back, and after five minutes she catches up with the program and just enjoys the ride, and every mile we put between us and school just makes Dean and Jo’s grin grow wider. That time, the shortcut took us to the Glore Psychiatric Museum, in Saint Joseph. Yes, I swear. That's what we did. And let me tell you, it's much much worse that you could hope for. They have these gruesome and creepy devices and I was horrified, and deeply disturbed, so, as you can imagine, these two are having the time of their lives! Dean keeps trying to fit Jo almost everywhere he can think of until we were politely asked to leave. We also visited the Pony Express National Museum and the Jesse James House, with only a few minor incidents. We had breakfast for lunch. We even checked some of the churches. And then we drove back home at a reasonable hour and on the way there, we are trying to explain to Jo that we need to keep this a secret and that sometimes keeping a secret requires lying. I know, that's why I don't get to tell this story very often. And she gets it, of course, we skipped school, it's bad, although fun, but she knows we can't tell. So she doesn't. She keeps the secret. A few days go by, and on the same spot of the road, she says we should take a shortcut. And you know Dean can't say no to Jo, never had and never will. So we skipped another day, but this time, there's a call from the school. Guess what? Jo had a spelling test and she missed it. Busted, right? Who would have thought there were going to be consequences, right? Not us, for sure. But we’re Winchesters, that didn’t really slow us down nor interfere with the tradition that was set in motion. Therefore, we have an emergency tea party in Jo's pillow fort and we draft a contract on the now rebranded Snow Days. We signed three copies of a two pages long document establishing ground rules aimed to keep us out of trouble. Funny thing, it actually worked out. I mean, we would still get in trouble, but not for a Snow Day. There were a lot of rules, but the tradition was worth the effort. Mostly because we have an awesome big brother with awesome skills such as but not limited to, planning and execution good times, like you are all aware by now. He was so awesome that when he went to college and took Baby with him, I freaked out. I'm serious. Dean was gone and all the weight of the Snow Day tradition rested on my shoulders. It was a big responsibility. It was my job now. I needed to bring my A game, good ideas and public transportation options were not enough, I had to get creative. I mean, I couldn’t call Ellen and ask for a ride to the petting zoo, I only had a bike. So, basically, we know Lawrence like few others. We rediscovered the city. And it was a lot of work but I wouldn't change a thing. All the research and the planning I had to do ahead of time was absolutely worth it. Because I got to keep seeing the same look in Jo's face. I got to experience the childish rush and the barely contained excitement again. I got to witness once more, if only from the other side of the mirror, the raw potential of a Snow Day. I got to feel the magic we tapped in. Of course it was all worth it. Without a doubt. And I think it's a feeling we lose over time. Over routine. Over adult problems. It's something we remember feeling only when we experience it again, if only obliquely, or faded. Like the vestige of a forgotten sense, a lost paradise. Uhm. Sorry, I got side-tracked. So. Flash forward to a few years back. I'm visiting my parents and we go about as usual, you know, dinner, pie, coffee, more pie, bourbon. I'm in the back porch having a smoke, and Dean is sitting next to me, with his drink and his third piece of pie, and it's a hot summer late afternoon, it's raining, almost as much as today, and we are just chillin, looking out and listening to sound of the rain falling on the tin roof. And I hear something else, like a hum, over the sound of the rain. And I strain my ear, and realize it's coming from Dean, he's vibrating. I know it sounds weird, bare with me. He's not saying anything, but I know he's about to. And I know it's something important because, again, he's vibrating, like a cat. And then he turns to me, and I can see he's glowing now, like a Jack-o’-lantern, just lit up from the inside, and his eyes turn really _really_ green, like _impossible_ green? And I have no freaking idea what's going on with him but, at the same time, I get this weird déjà vu. And it takes me a moment to process what I'm feeling. But then I get it. I'm not, I’m not seeing the grown up man sitting next to me, I'm watching my big brother lose his mind whenever Mom asked if we wanted to take a shortcut, and skip school, have pie for lunch and then hit the comic store. I'm watching my big brother driving for two hours because he heard some guy had llamas in his petting zoo. I'm watching Jo seeing said llama and falling in love with him. You remember Tito the alpaca, right? Yeah, that's how it started. Yeah. So, I'm seeing the ten years old version of my brother and I can only think, he just had a Snow Day. Like you would have a religious experience, right? And then, finally, Dean speaks. And he's still light up like a Christmas tree on steroids, right? He opens his mouth and says: ‘I met someone. Her name is Lisa.’ Yeah. And. And I remember thinking that it must have been an exceptional event to bring such an old memory back to the present day. He literally took me back in time when we were kids, city kids actually, before the whole Little House on the Prairie shitchk. He took me back to those days when we would just stroll around the city, aimlessly, have a second breakfast for lunch, and catch a movie, and just chill with Mom. He triggered those precious memories, those moments where I knew, even then, that we were very lucky. Sorry, I got sidetracked. _Again_. My bad. So, Dean... He tells me about Lisa. And, I have yet another epiphany: Lisa _was_ the Snow Day... And I knew then that my brother had found someone truly special, and that he was indeed really lucky. I didn't know back then how lucky he was, because, let's be honest. Just kidding, you're both equally lucky. You have found your Snow Day in each other, and that's. I think that's a small miracle. And we should celebrate that. So, I would like to propose a toast, may all of us have the chance to experience a Snow Day, everyday with the person we love. To Lisa and Dean!”

“To Lisa and Dean!”


	6. Backstage after party

[ Cas ]

Once again, they’re both sitting by the bar, only this time Bobby is with them. The band seems to be limited to the reenacting of the previous playlist mood, which he finds rather disappointing. Sam has spaced out a while ago, eyes fixed on the back wall of the bar. Cas, elbows propped on the counter, is entertaining himself sport-watching people on the dance floor. He can spot John and Ellen, Jo and Adam, and in a far corner, Dean and Lisa.

He looks over his shoulder for a moment, just to make sure Sam’s there.

“What?” Sam asks with a quick glance.

“That was a compelling best man speech by the way,” he turns back to the dance floor. “You had them eating from your hand.”

“It was a trainwreck,” Sam runs his hand over his face. “And a lot of bullshit.”

“Still compelling,” Cas grins. “I hadn’t heard that story before. About your Mom.”

Cas glances back and catches Bobby smiling at his glass.

“I need a smoke,” Sam sits up straight, finishes his drink and pats Bobby shoulder on his way out.

“Did I say something wrong?” He turns to Bobby as soon as Sam is out of sight.

“No, son,” he assures him. Cas mindlessly rubs his sternum. There’s a thing coling inside of him and he _just_ seems unable to shake it off.

“The so-called ‘shortcuts’, it was Mary’s thing,” Bobby adds after a moment. "Whenever she had a bad day."

“Oh,” great, now he feels stupid. His eyes wander back to the dance floor, that _thing_ inside him still fidgeting and pushing against his ribcage.

* * *

[ Excerpt of _Mother Tongue_ by James Novak ]

“The Names of the Dead”

Children should learn to read and write not by means of nouns (house, mom, tree, mountain), but by names: Peter, Susan, Madalaine, Eugene. If I say _mountain_ , everyone knows what I am talking about, they will imagine a mountain and they will even be able to draw it, but if I say Margaret, people will ask: Margaret who? Margaret is as good a word as mountain, Margarets are as existent as the mountains, but while all the mountains resemble each other, and therefore they can be drawn, no Margaret resembles another. Learning to write with words that lack a precise reference, that do not refer to any object and to any idea and that, like river stones, have lost their meaning due to so much rubbing, would teach children to value the nonsense of words, to repeat them without further ado, with perplexity or joy, which would hone their conjectural, idiomatic capacity and, incidentally, their hearing. And so as not to fall into abstraction and endow the names with a seriousness beyond doubt, there are the names of the dead. The classroom would move to cemeteries, where children would stroll among graves to spell and memorize the names of the deceased. Nothing like those names engraved on the tombstones (the purest there are, because no one is called by them anymore) to become intimate with the sound of words, that sound that current teaching writing methods, based entirely on the equivalence between the written sign and the thing it represents, too soon subordinate the tyranny of the concept. Nothing better than them, who shine as an autonomous thing as the memory of the deceased quivers and fades, to prove the arbitrariness of language and we remember that, despite the word mountain, no mountain resembles another, that everything is different from everything and that life is made of proper names. Only those names, by not swallowing the lie of equivalence and similarity, provide us the way out of language through language, a glimpse of the reality of the world.

* * *

[ Sam ]

He lights up his second cigarette and leans back against the wall. The front door swings open and a couple stumbles out. They spare him a quick glance and head South, turn right at the corner, and they’re gone. The crazy ominous heavy rain turned into a pink-yellowish foggy night. Fucking weird. Just like the rest of this fucking trip. He’s halfway through, blowing smoke with diligence, when the door swings open again with a clank.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me to get the fuck off,” says Cas with his hands raised. “Otherwise, I’m gonna stay and try to make awkward small talk.”

Sam turns to him.

 _One Mississippi_.

He takes another draft and stares at him.

 _Two Mississippi_.

Cas tilts his head to the side and holds his gaze.

 _Three Mississippi_.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” Cas squints.

Sam pushes off the wall and stands up straight, squaring his shoulder, really taking up the space.

“Is it working?” His voice comes out harsh and deep.

“Oh, it’s working. Just not how you’d think,” Cas snorts. “Seriously, can I stay here and smoke my shit or am I interrupting your brooding mood?”

“I’m not brooding.”

“ _Right_ ,” Cas rolls his eyes so far up it must hurt. “You’re just, you know. Chain smoking on the sidewalk for fun,” Cas pads his pocket and retrieves a pack of cigarettes.

“I thought you quit,” Sam watches him rip the pack open with clumsy fingers.

“Well,” he sighs, taking one out. “As it turns out,” he gestures Sam for the Zippo. The ember shines bright as Cas takes one long draft. “I’m not that well adjusted,” he looks up and blows out the smoke. “But what else is new,” he looks back at him.

Sam scratches his neck avoiding eye contact.

“I got a call.”

“Not a good one I gathered.”

“I need to head back.”

“Back where?”

“Detroit,” he lies.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Now? _Now_ now? At this very moment?” Cas perks up.

He nods.

“You need a ride, do you want me to--?”

“Oh, no, no, they’re picking me up,” he glances at his phone, “in 15 minutes”.

“Oh,” Cas sounds somehow upset. “So… What were you planning to do with all those minutes?” Cas tries to tease him.

“Well, I need to say goodbye to everyone,” Sam takes one long draft and puts out the cigarette on the wall.

“I was hoping we would make out, but sure…” Cas says and he freezes up for a split second.

“Sometimes I can’t tell when you’re joking,” he huffs and shakes his head.

Thirteen minutes.

“Ask me if I’m joking,” Cas squares his shoulder like he’s getting ready to throw a punch, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“Are you joking?” He swallows down a brick.

“Would you like me to?” Cas takes a deep breath.

Sam opens his mouth and the entire English language fails him at once.

“I feel we’ve been tiptoeing around each other since we met,” Cas continues. “And I don’t mean this Tuesday.”

Eleven minutes.

“I know we don’t have enough time to have this particular conversation but I’m afraid it’s happening regardless.”

“Cas…”

“Listen, we never had the chance to talk about what happened, Sam. And that’s not exclusively on me. I was a mess, that’s on me. And it was a messy moment...”

“Cas…”

“And I just want to, I think, I hadn’t realized, I mean. I just need to. _Shit_. I don’t even know where to start. No, I do. I owe you an apology, Sam. I’m sorry. I know that much.”

Sam stares at him for a long moment, not sure how he feels about that and not sure how to proceed, but the words find their way out anyways, a stream of consciousness if you will, one Sam is well acquainted with.

“Dean cornered me, after that night, he, he looked, I had never seen him like that, he kept antagonizing me, I… I outed myself in the worst possible way, I… It was... Next thing I know, he’s dropping me off at Stanford without as much as a fuck you, and he goes back to Lawrence, and stars drinking like Bobby, and just spirals out of control, and, and, he just, cuts me off, he can’t bare to look at me in the eye anymore, like I’m, like I’m, a _freak_ , I don’t even... And I never heard from you again, you just, puffed, gone, radio silence,” he needs to take a deep breath. “A messy moment? That would be an _awful_ understatement and a flatout _lie_.”

“Sam,” Cas swallows loudly. “I’m sorry…” His voice falters.

Five minutes.

“Yes, yes, you said that already,” he watches as Cas swallows and tries to hide the hurt in his face. “Dean said that too. He apologized, for everything. And it was. I’m just giving you the highlights. So, yes. I’m sorry too, Cas. It was a fucking shit storm and guess what? It turns out, I’m not out yet. And. And now you’re _here_ , we are _both_ here, and I’m not a kid anymore, and yet. _Yet_. I still feel like I’m doing something wrong, either reading too much into things or not paying enough attention, I don’t know. Either way, I’m _fucked_. And I just. I can’t do this right now, Cas.”

Cas shifts his weight from one foot to the other and makes eye contact again.

“I understand,” he says with candor. “And I’m sorry for pushing you to talk. Because. I _need_ to talk about it.”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I _want_ to have an adult conversation. I _do_. It’s just that I don’t think I can, I don’t feel like... I just can’t do this right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s how people get hurt out there.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“What? No, Cas. There’s no metaphor. I…” He sighs and runs his hand over his face. _I don’t wanna end up like Mom_.

“Is this about your job?” Cas squints at him.

 _Fuck it._ Sam nods.

“I’m in the middle of something right now. I can’t,” he sighs again. “This is so fucking frustrating!”

His phone starts to buzz in his pocket.

“I get it. You don’t need to explain anything to me, OK? I understand. You have my number, I have yours. That’s all we need for now.”

Sam looks at him and Cas holds his gaze earnestly.

“I won’t be around for some time,” his phone stops buzzing.

“It’s OK. You can call me whenever,” Cas smiles and, if only for a second, Sam believes him.

Three minutes.

“You should go back inside,” Cas says, averting his eyes again. “Say your goodbyes,” he takes another draft.

He checks his phone again. “Right, protocol,” he hums but stays put. Cas nods, grinning the tiniest bit, if only to himself. Sam takes a deep breath and, sparing him one last glance, he makes his way back inside.


	7. What goes around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback! 
> 
> Find out what happened on those days previous to New Year's Eve.
> 
> Or, more accurately, what *almost* happened.

[ Cas ]

It’s long past midnight when he walks into the kitchen and finds Sam curled up over a notebook, headphones on, elbows resting over the kitchen table. Whatever he’s reading must be truly fascinating because it takes him a moment to notice he’s not alone, but as soon as he does, he closes the notebook with a coy smile and takes his headphones off.

“Am I late to our meeting?” Cas squints at him, lips curling up involuntarily.

“Not at all,” Sam pulls his knees up and hugs them.

“Want some tea?” He fills the kettle in the kitchen sink and can’t help to notice that Sam did the dishes, bless his heart. “I have some fancy Oolong somewhere,” he starts roaming through the cabinets.

“How fancy?”

“Balt said it was some quality shit. But he says that about everything, so I guess we’ll have to see,” he inspects the box and sure enough, looks quite fancy. “Like I know the first thing about tea,” he mutters, turning the box around.

“Are you guys still, like…” Sam trails off and Cas turns around just in time to see him blush a little. “Together?”

“Well,” he sighs. “Besides the occasional hook-up, most of the time we’re just friends,” Cas gestures the shelf just above the kitchen table. “Pick one.”

Sam disentagles his long limbs, stands up and stares at the teapots in display.

“How do you do that?” He picks the white one with the wooden handle and hands it over.

“The hook-up part or the friendship part?” Cas rinses the teapot and fetches two white porcelain cups from the china cabinet.

“No, I mean…” Sam trails off again and Cas doesn’t push further. He knows there’s something up with him the moment he walked into the apartment the day before. Instead, he reads the instructions on the box (three times over) and tries to follow suit the best he can. A few minutes go by in silence before Cas sits down across the table, and hands him his cup of steaming tea.

“Spill the tea, c’mon,” he encourages him and that earns him a full dimple smile.

“Promise me you won’t tell Dean?” Sam looks at him earnestly through his lashes.

“Would I ever?” Cas tries to sound offended by the sheer implication.

“I’m serious,” Cas sits up straight at that. Sam does sound serious.

“What happens in the Sleep Disorder Club meetings, stays in the Sleep Disorder Club meetings.”

Sam grins but the eyes tell a different story.

“Remember Jess?”

“Yes, Jessica. Wants to be a nurse, Smurfs fan. You met her at an English class, Spring semester.”

“Yes. The thing is. She. I thought we were, uhm, dating, right? We didn’t like, talked about it specifically, but we hung out almost every day, and. Then. She kinda introduced me to one of her friends. And he’s really hot.” Sam’s cheeks color pink. “We. Kinda hit off. But. Jess was like. She acted like she was glad, or maybe relieved to get rid of me? I don’t know.”

“What?”

“But, like, not in a bad way!!" He hurries to clarify. “She acted like, she wanted to point me in the right direction.”

_Oh my God. Sam was coming out to him._

“So, what are you saying is that maybe you’re bi?” Cas tries to inflect as much support in his words as possible.

“Am I though?” Sam sounds so calm and somehow tired. “Because the thing is, Cas. At first I thought maybe it was a gender thing, you know? I thought. Maybe. I mean. Like, with Maddie,” Sam sighs. Cas remembers her. She was a brunette with long skinny fingers, big eyes and even bigger smile. She had a yellow bike and was a recurring presence at the farm, at least during the summers Cas visited the Winchesters. “I think she was the first because we had known each other from the seventh grade and it felt like it was something I was supposed to want,” he continues and Cas can hear Dean’s slipping between the lines. “And I felt like this was one of those things where you’re not supposed to overthink. So I didn’t. And we didn’t last long after that, I mean, we went to Prom and. And everyone keeps telling me that I’m supposed to have fun in college, and experiment the full range of human pleasures or whatever, like it makes sense somehow. But I don’t understand how to do that. And Jess seemed to know what she was doing, so I just, I guess I just followed her lead. Not that I don’t like her, I do. I think she helped me enjoy, uhm, sex, like, it got better, but. I don’t know. We never talked about uhm, like, _us_. And. I don’t know what I'm supposed to do, so I try not to overthink it and kinda roll with it and make it as we go. But I knew we were, uhm, inevitably approaching an expiration date, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“And I thought, OK. We were in a relationship, whatever that means, I don’t know, and now that’s gonna change. And I thought. OK. But she, she doesn’t, like, we don’t have that conversation. She doesn’t actually break up with me. Instead, she sets me up with her friend, Brady. Like she was doing me favor. And, to be honest, I was _intrigued_ because he looked like the kind of person who can tell you exactly what he wants you to do and he’s not afraid to get his point across. And he’s surprisingly open to talk about, uhm, pretty much anything. So we hang out, and have sex, and we talk, a lot, and that’s a considerable perk. But most of the time, I don’t have answers for him. I don’t know what to tell him.”

“What’s the question?”

“What do I want.”

“No one can answer that, Sam.”

“Dean has a pretty clear idea of what he wants,” Sam purses his lips and looks down at his cup.

“Dean knows shit, Sam,” Cas can taste the bitterness on the tip of his tongue. “And I don’t mean that as a bad thing. He just has a plan, and it’s not even an original one: make money, start up a business, get married, buy a house. That’s the plan your parents had, and their parents before them, and so on. Plans mean nothing. What you want, what you ache for, what you need, what you crave, what gives you life, those are different questions and far more complex and unknowable. You’re nineteen, you’re not gonna crack the code. Neither am I. We’re all stumbling in the dark, some more gracefully than others, no one knows shit. Don’t trust people who say otherwise,” Cas watches Sam nodding slowly, like he’s connecting some grim dots in his mind.

“What about,” he begins and shuffles in his seat. “Brady often says, he can tell I’m not all there.”

“Where?”

“When I’m with him.”

“Maybe you’re just not that into him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I don’t think that’s... That’s not really the point, if there is one. I think he’s right but not because I’m not like, ready to commit to a relationship with him. I don’t, I’m not afraid or embarrassed to be with him, like, out in the open."

"You're out-out?"

"Back at Stanford? I guess? Maybe not in so many words, but I'm not exactly hiding or anything."

"OK, good."

"That doesn’t mean I’m ready to introduce him to my family. That's.." Sam shuffles in his seat.

“You don't have to. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable doing."

“I think there’s a part of me that just doesn’t fit anywhere. Not with Brady, or Jess, or whomever. Not at Stanford, Kansas or California. I feel... Wherever I go, whatever I do, whomever I’m with, I don’t feel like I fit. And I can’t shake the feeling I’m,” Sam takes a deep breath and swallows hard. Cas tries to reach his hand over the table but Sam recoils on the chair. “I don’t wanna start crying,” he sounds so apologetical.

“It’s OK.”

“I don’t think I would be able to stop,” he takes another shaky breath and tries to pull it together. “I visited my grandpa Samuel over the summer.”

“Oh, was it that bad?” Cas jokes and that earns him a small chuckle.

“Understatement!” He runs his hands over his face, grateful for the detour. “I don’t know how you can stand them when they’re together.”

“Who says I do?”

Sam laughs louder this time.

“I know this is a big house, but it’s not _that_ big, trust me.”

“Jo was more than upset when she found out you weren’t coming, but two hours down the lovebirds experience, she totally got it. Trust me.”

“I just needed a break, Sam. You have no idea what I’ve been through!” Cas lets himself be a little more than petty this time. “The things I saw and wished I could unsee. Nah-ah. Thank you. Bella can have the farm and your brother all to herself, all summer long. Barbara, please.”

Sam wheezes and hides his face on the crook of his elbow. Cas sips his tea and smiles to himself. He missed the kid.

Sam takes a minute and when he looks back up, he looks like he aged a decade.

“I missed our talks,” he mutters almost to himself.

“Me too. I’m sorry we haven't had the opportunity to talk a lot lately. I’ve been… I’m still messed up.” Cas is smart enough to admit he was a complete wreck the last time they saw each other. His dad had died and the whole Winchester family showed up at the funeral. Bobby even sent him a letter. Dean never came back to Kansas after the that, instead he stayed with him and they’ve been roommates ever since. Despite the fact Seattle’s weather is a bitch to Baby and he had to bus tables for a very long time before he managed to get a barman gig, he stayed.

“It takes time,” Sam sounds even older, wiser and distant. “You don’t just stop grieving.”

Cas swallows hard and breathes through his nose.

“So you went to visit your Grandpa,” he tries to stay on topic.

“Yes, I stayed with him for a couple of weeks. And. I helped him with some things around the house. And... I went through Mom’s things. I always do that when I visit. I like to. I guess, I feel closer to her. But, I went through the attic this time. And I found a trunk with her journals.”

“Oh my God,” Cas gasps without realizing.

“Yeah, I know,” he runs his hand through his hair. “I mean, she was twelve when she started. Can you imagine? I think I was fifteen the first time I tried to keep a journal, and even now I don’t know shit… And she. _Fuck_. She was so smart, and witty, and she had this offbeat sense of humor. And. At the same time. She. She sounds, I can’t even,” he takes a deep shaky breath, eyes closed. “I always felt like... a silent sorrow nested in her. Something more powerful than the love that we could feel for her, more powerful than her love for us,” Sam’s voice is barely a whisper. “And it’s not fair. I feel like I’m getting to know her just to lose her all over again. But then. At the same time. I understand. I understand,” Sam beams at him. “She was lonely.”

Cas feels like he has been hit by a truck.

“That’s exactly how I feel. All the time. No matter who I'm with, it’s inside me. And that, somehow, makes sense.”

Cas open his mouth, suddenly parched, and no sound comes out.

“And here’s the punchline: I can't talk with Dean about it. Nor Dad. Not without betraying her trust. I feel so stupid…” Sam trails off.

Cas takes a big gulp of air and tries to shake it off.

He pushes away his empty cup and stands up. He fetches two glasses from the same china cabinet and then walks out of the kitchen. He comes back with two bottles. He pours two fingers of bourbon for Sam and three fingers of rye for himself.

“We need a real drink, there’s a lot to unpack here,” he raises his glass first and then knocks it on the table.

“Let’s go back a little bit,” he adds after taking a good gulp.

Sam mirrors him and knocks the whole glass down in one go.

“OK,” he nods, both hands on the table.

“OK,” Cas echoes.

Around four thirty, Dean comes back from his shift, this time without Bella. He finds them in the kitchen, mildly buzzed, eyes red (maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the crying), ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette buds, some leftover pizza, and a box of tissues.

“What the hell are you doing up?” He makes a beeline to the window and opens it despite the extremely cold weather. Dean hates that Cas smokes inside the house, it’s a constant fight with them. Cas doesn’t think Dean knows Sam smokes (ever since he’s been fifteen) at least as far as he’s aware of. Back in Kansas, it was easier for them to sneak out for smoke breaks, there was plenty of space and the weather was always nice, but here, in this building, in the middle of the winter, smoking outside on the balcony it’s not an option.

“We’re catching up,” Cas says stretching his arms over his head.

“Catching up with cancer,” Dean replies empting the ashtray in the garbage.

“Are you hungry? There’s Chinese in the fridge, I can heat it up if you want to,” he tries to sound friendly, like he didn’t interrupt anything at all, but he can see Sam’s getting uncomfortable, eyeing the notebook like he wants to hide it. Dean doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m gonna take a shower and hit the sack,” Dean rinses the ashtray in the kitchen sink and turns around to give him _a look_.

“What?” Cas keeps his demeanor on neutral.

“Don’t stay up late, you’ll be a zombie tomorrow,” he mutters before leaving. Cas turns to look at Sam and shrugs. They remain silent, this time, not so comfortably. He stands up, a little weak on the knees, and closes the window.

“You’re coming to the party tomorrow, right?” Sam asks, visibly worried.

Cas wasn’t actually planning on going. He has no interest in celebrating the New Year with Bella’s entourage at the pub where Dean works, not that there’s something wrong with the pub. But now he feels guilty for leaving Sam to fence for himself.

“Anna and Gabe invited me to have dinner with some frinds downtown,” he watches Sam’s shoulders sag a little. “What if you come with me for dinner and then we go to Dean’s party? That way we both comply with our social commitments.”

“Cool,” Sam’s dimples make another appearance and that caughts him off guard. Sam stands up, already set on cleaning up the table. Cas watches him for a moment, then picks up the bottles and returns them to their place.

After tidying up, they say goodnight in the living room, each one making their way to opposite sides of the house.

[ Sam ]

_It’s not a date_ , he knows that. He tells himself that as he’s having breakfast with Dean, who doesn’t seem to be all that happy about the change of plans for the night.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Dean asks around a mouthful of bacon.

“Not really, but Anna is gonna be there,” if that’s what’s bothering him. Dean shakes his head and washes down the food with more coffee.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” he checks his phone again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” That got his attention.

“Look,” he raises his hand like Dad when he’s about to give a lecture. “I’ve been around these theater kids, OK? They pop pills like tic tacs and they’re full of shit. So, don’t do anything stupid. And make sure Cas doesn’t do anything stupid either. Especially if Balthazar shows up,” Dean sounds annoyed for some reason. “I don’t wanna clean up that mess,” he adds, checking his phone again. “I have to go get ready, I have to pick up Bella,” he finishes his coffee in one gulp and walks out. Sam finishes his eggs in silence.

Cas reemerges from the study around two in the afternoon, looking sleepy and disheveled. He finds Sam reading on the coach.

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” his voice is hoarse and Sam’s stomach does that thing. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he goes to the kitchen and comes back with a cup of tea.

“Wanna go grab some food?” He glances at the clock on the mantel. “Lunch?” He finishes and plops down on the arm chair.

“It’s snowing pretty bad,” Sam points out the window.

“Oh,” Cas sips his tea, eyes almost close.

“I can cook pasta,” Sam ventures and that earns him a soft smile.

“Of course you can,” he says propping his feet on the coffee table. “Are you sure you don’t wanna transfer here?”

“I’ll think about it,” he tries not to sound so serious.

Lucky for Cas, Dean is in charge of the groceries, so their kitchen is well stocked. Sam makes spaghetti carbonara and tries not to blush that hard as Cas compliments his skills. After having a late late lunch, they watch _Mommie Dearest_ on the couch with a cup of tea and now Sam gets all those _Barbara, please_ and _Christina get the axe_. Half an hour in, Cas got up to fetch a blanket and drapped it around both. When the movie ended, Sam choose the next one and make some popcorn. Dean came back with Bella around six.

“Look at you, all cuddly like a couple of old lesbians,” Bella teases, getting her manicured fingers on the popcorn. Cas pointley ignores her.

“What are you watching?” Dean hugs her from behind and she takes some popcorn to his lips.

“Carrie,” Sam replies.

“Jesus,” Dean rolls his eyes. “You and your obsession with Stephen King, man. I don't get it."

“Ugh, I _hate_ horror movies,” Bella frowns.

“C’mere,” Dean lifts Bella bridal style and she starts laughing and trashing just enough to make Dean work for it. A moment later, he hears them getting in the bathroom together. Sam spares a glance to Cas, but his eyes are fixed on the TV. Forty minutes later, Dean and Bella come out, showered and dressed up in their matching uniforms.

“We’re gonna head out,” Dean says looking at his watch. “Take the train or call a cab, don’t drive,” he warns someone, Sam is not sure who. Cas stares blankly at him for a moment.

“Gabe is picking us up,” he replies on what Sam has learned it’s his neutral tone.

“Awesome,” Dean helps Bella with her coat. “Tell him to swing by the pub. First round is on me.”

“Your brother is not coming?” Bella asks like Sam is not in the room.

“He’ll come later.”

“Try to make it before ten,” she turns to Sam this time. “It gets really packed after that.”

Sam nods and with that, they are gone. A moment goes by, maybe a little bit awkward, before Cas pulls the blanket off and gets up.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says grabbing his cigarrettes. 

“What time is Gabe coming?”

“Who knows,” he shrugs. “Wanna get ready just in case he comes at a reasonable hour?”

“Sure,” he tries not to sound disappointed. It was nice under the blanket.

 _It’s not a date_ , he thinks again as he showers and puts on his nice black tee, the one Jo picked for him. _It’s not a date_ , he thinks when they smoke by the kitchen window. Gabriel picks them up around eight thirty and they climb into the back seat of his car because they still have to go and get Anna. Anna is really happy to see Sam again, and she tells that herself, after scolding Gabe for being late. Of course, Gabriel just laughs it off and says he prefers to be fashonably late.

"Besides, everybody knows the party only starts when we get there. We are the Fat Lady equivalent."

 _It’s not a date_ , he reminded himself as Gabriel introduced him as Cas’s date to the host of the party, a handsome guy named Bart, who is beyond happy to see Cas, although he calls him James. It's not a dinner in the traditional sense but it doesn't look like a house party either. There is a lot of food, and fancy drinks, and it's a big house, but it looks more like a small gathering at an art show.

“Bart is a painter,” Anna said. “This is his studio.”

“The Children of the Garrison,” Gabe had whispered to him, as a way of explanation. “Seattle's crème de la crème de la crème,” he added pointing his nose.

Whatever that meant, Sam has a really good time. At one point, there was a jazz jam session in one of the living rooms, the one with the Bösendorfer Imperial. Gabriel played the trumpet, Balt the piano, a girl named Benji the double bass and another person, whose name he couldn’t quite recall, the drums. OK, maybe it was all a little _extra_ if he would care to look around. But it was hard to focus on something else other than Cas presence. He couldn’t help to notice that, despite being really close, he and Anna are not very touchy with each other. Or others, for that matter. He knows she and Gabriel have been dating for some time now, but Gabriel seems the only one initiating the physical contact, brushing her hair, reaching for her hand or just leaning into her. Anna seems to be OK with that. Cas, one the other hand, he tends to recoil a little bit when someone steps in his personal space. And these people are his friends. Well, they call him James, so maybe they’re not that close. He wonders if Baltazar calls him Cas.

“You OK, kid?” Gabriel asks, pulling him out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods and Gabe sits next to him on the window sill. Gabriel follows his gaze. Cas and Anna are on the other side of the room, staring at a series of black and white pictures neatly framed and properly illuminated, drinks in one hand, cigarette on the other, head tilted to the side. They both take a drag at the same time and Sam can’t help a smile.

“They do that shit all the time,” he says, chuckling. “Are you and your brother like that?”

Sam ponders the question for a second.

“We’re really good at Charades and Pictionary, if that counts for something.”

Gabriel laughs and slaps his shoulder.

“I like your vibe, Sam. You should visit us more often.”

Sam grins at that. That would be nice.

“Dean’s cool and all but he _hates_ this kind of gigs. Like, he has a visceral physical reaction. I mean, you like what you like, right? It’s just that, you know, it’s been hard to get Cas to leave the house and it’s hard to take the party to him, so. Yeah, it’s tricky. So thank you for coming, I’m sure he wouldn't have stayed as long otherwise.”

“Shit!” Sam glances at his watch. _Fuck_. It’s a quarter to eleven. “We were supposed to go to Dean’s party!”

“Oh, right. Uhm, go grab your date,” Gabriel keeps nodding as he pats his pocket. “I need to go to the loo first, meet you outside,” and with that he’s on his way. Sam watches him go.

 _It’s not a date_.

Of course they’re late and the place is packed, just as Bella said it would be. But eventually they make it to the bar. Dean is serving drinks and big smiles right until he spots them. And that’s when Sam realizes he’s holding Cas’s hand. When did _that_ happen? Apparently, somewhere along the way. Maybe when he was trying to navigate the multitude of bodies and Cas was falling behind, clearly not at all comfortable with the ratio of people in his personal space. He lets go of him and props himself over the counter.

“You’re late,” Dean yells over the music and Sam tries to shrug it off. He sounds annoyed but not quite pissed yet.

“Can I have some water?” He says instead, mouth suddenly full of cotton. Dean sighs and gets him a tall glass of sparkling water. He then gestures to Cas, who is looking anywhere but at them. Sam touches his shoulder and leans closer to him.

“Cas? Do you want something to drink?”

“Water?” Cas is high as a kite and they have that in common. Sam hands him his glass and turns around to ask Dean for another one, but Dean beats him to it. He needs to get his act together _pronto_ or he’ll never hear the end of it. Dean can be such a condescending asshole sometimes. It's just weed. They manage to squeeze into a corner and watch the ball drop, and everyone seems to be having a good time. Well, it’s a fucking nightmare to him. Everything too loud, too hot, too crowded, and he can only think of Cas, who’s standing way too close but totally zoned out. Around one o’clock, he feels he can’t really endure one more minute. It’s not like it’s Dean’s birthday party anyways, he didn’t even have time to talk to him when he's on duty. So, fuck protocol.

“I wanna go home,” he whisper-yells at Cas. Cas turns to look at him with unrestrained relief and nods emphatically.

They walk several blocks and Sam already feels better. They get a cab eventually. Cas remains silent on the way back home, but he looks relaxed, more at ease. As soon as they're inside, Cas begins shedding his layers.

“I need a shower,” he explains as he makes a beeline to his study. Sam decides that’s actually a good idea and takes a really hot shower in the guest bathroom. He changes to his pajamas, brushes his teeth, feeling only a light buzz. He goes back to the living room and finds Cas curled up under the wool blanket.

“Wanna watch _The Shining_?” He asks, eyes heavy with sleep. Sam nods and Cas makes room for him under the blanket. He waits for him to get comfortable, _get more pillows Sam_ , and then press play. It’s Kubrick’s extended version.

“Do you want popcorn?” He asks 20 minutes in. Cas just shakes his head and melts further into the couch. _Closer_. And that definitely is all Sam needs to sober up. Danny is riding his tricycle and the intermittent sound of the wheels on the wooden floor is really loud, but not as loud as Sam's own thoughts.

“I know it’s gonna get really bad in a moment, but I still think that looks really fun,” Sam points out and Cas makes some sort of affirmative sound. He turns to look at him, Cas looks a little spacy.

“Are you coming down from your high?” He tries to nudge him but there’s not much room between them. Cas takes a deep breath.

“I’m just enjoying this moment,” he sighs and turns to look at him with a soft smile. Sam swallows hard. “I know I’m not exactly at my best right now,” he continues. “But I sincerely enjoy having you around.”

 _Fuck_.

“I wish we could do this more often,” Cas's voice is barely over a whisper.

Danny stands in front of Room 237 and Sam can feel himself spiraling down inside his own head.

_Try to forget, forget that you love._

Her mother’s words echo in his mind.

_Oblivion envelops us when the darkness of night covers us._

Mary’s words scribbled down on cheap paper.

_Make me lose my mind._

Words of a woman in love.

_Bury me in the despair of an endless hug that prevents me from waking up forever._

Mary’s words for her lover.

_You don't know that since I've known you I only know how to burn._

“Sam?” Cas sounds mildly concerned.

_To be brave enough to surrender._

He will never betray her trust. Never.

Cas’s places his hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently.

“What is it?”

She’s talking to him, letting him know. Letting him see what it feels like.

“Nothing. I just like you.”

Cas’s face lights up and Sam’s heart plummets.

“I like you too,” he replies back, almost too earnestly.

“No, you don’t get it,” Sam shudders. His eyes flick to Cas’s pink lips and then back to his stupid baby blue eyes.

_To be brave enough to surrender._

Cas’s pupils are blown out and his breathing is shallow. Sam swallows hard. It’s a fleeting moment, actually. But Sam doesn’t have to ask himself, _I wonder if this is gonna feel good_. It already does. It’s even better than good. It feels _right_.

“Sam,” Cas whispers, his eyes lingering on his lips, fingers digging in the flesh of his arm. “Wait,” he pleads, and an alarm set off in his head.

Danny is staring at the creepy twins at the end of the hall and Sam suddenly hears footsteps approaching. Cas withdraws and Sam feels it in his bones.

“Oh my _Gawd_!” Bella’s voice booms from behind. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She continues slurring her words, clearly drunk. “Like, seriously?” She pops clumsily down on the armchair and sways her long legs on the coffee table. “You ditched us to watch horror movies in the dark like a couple of losers?” She waves her hands, like she’s batting flies. “Dee, baby, I’m hungry,” she whines and all the air leaves Sam’s lungs at once. Dean looks pissed.

“There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” Cas points out in that horrible neutral voice as he sits up straight to grab his package of cigarettes. And with that, he stands up.

“I’m going to bed,” he says to no one and he marches in the direction of the study.

"Who stole his crayons?" Bella rolls her eyes. Dean reaches for the remote control and turns off the TV.

“Why don’t you go to the kitchen, baby. I’ll be there in a minute,” he tries to sound nonchalantly, but Sam knows better than that.

“Can I put on some music?” Bella pouts.

“Sure, baby,” Dean smiles really big at her, but when he turns to look at Sam there’s nothing soft about it.

“I’m gonna…” Sam trails off, suddenly very aware of, well, everything. “Goodnight guys,” he mutters and goes straight to his room. He can feel Dean’s look burning holes on his back.

“I think we interrupted their little date night,” Sam hears Bella giggle at that.

“Go put some music on, baby, I’ll be right back.” Dean’s voice is layered with restrained anger and bitterness, back he doesn’t follow him.

Sam clings to Mary's journal like his life depends on it.

He doesn’t sleep that night. But what else is new?


	8. Comes around

[ Cas ]

He’s running late. Anna is going to kill him. He rushes through the door of the cafe and looks around trying to locate her.

“ _Marco_!” He follows her voice and spots her waving her hand on the back of the room.

“So you’re not deaf, but you’re definitely _blind_. I was waving at you from the window like a mad person,” Anna mocks him as he takes his jacket off.

“I know,” he hangs his jacket on the back of the chair and sits down. “I was just ignoring you.”

“Haha,” she rolls her eyes dramatically. “I read your draft,” Anna says, inspecting the menu. Small talk ain’t a family trade at all.

“And?”

“It’s good,” Anna hands him the menu. “I have a few notes.”

“Of course,” Cas wouldn't expect otherwise. He scans the menu quickly and puts it down. Anna gestures to the waiter and he comes to take their order. They both go for pasta, Cas orders the linguini, Anna the ravioli, and a glass of white wine (Gabe would tease them for it).

“I like it,” she adds as an afterthought. “It’s different.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“I can tell,” Anna nods. “Are you sleeping?”

Cas sighs and shrugs. Luckly, the waiter comes back with their drinks. His search for the mysterious C. has triggered something in him, and his sleep schedule went flying out the window. Maybe it didn’t _trigger_ anything, maybe just enhanced his turmoil.

_Don’t worry Cas, he goes radio silence sometimes._ Dean had said when he called. He sounded off, like a rehearsed answer said too many times over. Cas thought about Mary, once more. She had been popping in his mind a lot lately. Unlike Sam, Dean rarely talked about his mother. On the rare occasions when he brought her up, they were always fond memories. _Mom did the same sometimes._ He had added, almost as an afterthought. _It comes with the job_. Which actually made it worse. 

He takes a big gulp of wine and Anna tilts her head with a frown.

“Are you OK?” She gives him big Mama Bear vibes.

“I’m a little behind with the translation, but I think I’ll have it ready by the end of the week.”

“You can take the weekend if you want, we’ll go over it on Monday, so…”

“Oh, OK. Cool.”

“You are coming to the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, ten thirty, right?” It’s time for Cas to take out his notebook.

“Yes. I’ll email you a reminder.”

The food arrives and they keep talking about work related stuff almost completely, which it’s sort of a relief. After lunch, Cas walks Anna back to the office and they stop for coffee on the way. As they wait for their order Anna bumps him lightly on the ribs.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you or will I have to beat it out of you?”

“Such a barbarian,” Cas pretends to be scandalized. They walk out of the coffee shop, paper cups in hands and Cas starts to unwind. Or at least, tries to.

“I need to talk to Sam.”

“I know.”

“I can’t stop thinking…” he sighs. “I feel like shit.”

“I know.”

“I feel like I failed him.”

“You’re human too, Cas. You did what you could. ”

“He was feeling alone, and vulnerable, and confused, and... I just.”

“You were also feeling alone, vulnerable, and confused, Cassie.”

“I just never thought Dean would react the way he did. I mean. Not with Sam. I thought. And I know I’m gonna sound like an incredibly stupid self-righteous dick, but I thought I was the problem. Like it was actually about me fucking things up,” Cas runs his hand through his hair.

“It was about you _and_ you’re an incredibly stupid self-righteous dick,” Anna rolls her eyes. “But it was about Dean as well, you know that. You can’t afford to take responsibility for somebody else’s words and actions. Free will ain’t cheap.”

“I should have known better,” Cas can’t shake the guilt off regardless. The guilt, the feeling he failed his fiend. He failed Sam.

“Don’t beat yourself with this, OK? It’s never helped you before and it’s not gonna help you now. So. You know. Try to focus on something else. At least until you can talk to Sam. Otherwise you’re having a one-sided conversation in your head, and that’s not the conversation you need to have right now. It’s not realistic, you’re filling up gaps with all your fears and insecurities, and you’re already revisiting your fallout with Dean, and that will inevitably pull you back to Dad and that’s not something to revive with this particular mindset. It will fuck you up.”

“I know,” Cas replies with a sigh. They reach the door of _The Garrison_ and Anna turns to him and pokes him right above his heart.

“Do something else. Something other than what you’re doing,” she sounds like she’s scolding a child but Cas is grateful for it.

“We’re lucky to have each other,” he replies on a whim.

“Ugh,” Anna flinches away from him, eliciting a full body laugh from him. She pats his shoulder once, lightly, and turns on her hills. “Monday, ten thirty. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Cas promises and waves at her even though she’s already walking away with her back to him. Before walking through the threshold, Anna turns around and points her finger accusatory at him.

“And finished that translation, please!” She demands and before Cas can flip her off, she’s out of sight.

He finishes his coffee on the way to the station. He’s so caught up in his own head, he misses his stop and gets off two stations later. He decides to take that as a hint he needs to pay a visit to Joshua as soon as possible, and walks slowly back home. He knows Anna is right. Objectively and rationally, he _understands_. Yet he can’t defuse some of the feelings that threaten to overwhelm him. He calls Joshua’s office and gets an appointment for Thursday. Until then, Cas follows Anna’s advice and tries to focus all his attention on finishing the work on time for Monday.

Thursday can’t come soon enough.

Cas lays on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I can’t help but wonder if I can reconnect with Sam without making it about Dean, you know?”

“Do you think your relationship with Dean prevents you from having one with Sam?” Joshua’s voice is smooth and calm. He wishes some of that calm was contagious.

“Not necessarily. It’s just that. Dean is a big part of the picture, and I don’t. I feel like I’m opening an old wound. One that has festered between us.”

“You can’t heal a festered wound. You have to clean it up first.”

“I thought I did, I thought I had. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“Maybe with Dean, but we are talking about Sam now.”

“It’s hard for me to tell where my relationship with Dean begins and where my relationship with Sam ends. Like they’re both entangled in my head. I know they’re not the same person. But, in my mind, it’s all blurry lines and overlapping feelings. Sam was always Dean’s little brother.”

“Sam will always be Dean’s brother.”

“Exactly.”

“Sam was also your friend.”

“Yes, he was.”

“What changed?”

“Everything. And nothing.”

“I remember you used to describe your relationship with Dean like a rollercoaster inside a tunnel of terror,” Cas laughs at that.

“Equal parts exciting and scary, yes. Like the Apocalypse was always pending above us.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sam?”

He ponders the question for a moment.

“Effortless.”

“And when you saw him at the wedding, would you say it was still effortless?”

“Yes, to some extent. It felt sadder, somehow.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it was nostalgia or just… That feeling you get when you…”

“When you…?”

“When you realize you fucked it up with someone.”

“Is that what you think you did?”

“I know that for a fact.”

“Was that your goal?”

“No, of course not! I’d never meant to hurt Sam. Actually, I thought I was doing the right thing by him as well. I thought I was protecting him from the shit storm. I thought if I stepped aside like Dean asked me to, Sam was going to be OK. Because I thought I was the problem. No, that’s not really what happened. Dean said I was the problem and I bought it. I let myself believe that. I convinced myself that that had to be it, so Dean could go on and live a happy life without me. Which he did, eventually. After sobering up at least.”

“You go to great lengths making others’ lives easier, even at the expense of your own happiness. Like it’s your job to pave the road, get them off the hook, so to speak."

"Yeah, I know."

"My question is, where do _you_ fit in? What do _you_ want to get out of this? Because it sounds to me that you don’t know what to do when there’s no Apocalypse or pending threat on the horizon. So you construct one. In this case, you’re making it sound like Dean is the real problem between you and Sam. And I’m not saying he’s not part of the equation, but is he really the problem here?”

His mind is running a hundred scenarios per second.

“What are you really afraid of, Castiel?” Joshua asks after a moment.

“I’m afraid to have a relationship with Sam,” he feels incredibly stupid to even say it at loud.

“Why?”

“Because healthy relationships are not my strong suit.”

“Do you think it up to you to decide that?”

“No.”

“OK. Let’s go from there.”

[ Sam ]

He’s early, nervous, and already regretting the moment he decided to quit smoking. He could really use a cigarette right about now. He’s pacing along the sidewalk in front of Cas's house, too jittery to stay inside the car. It’s a chilly April afternoon but at least it’s not raining. He pops another nicotine gum and leans against the car. Cas had moved out of his Dad’s apartment building several years ago, and he's now living in a two story house in Capitol Hill, a few blocks from Volunteer Park. It's really nice. Sam checks his phone for the tenth time and begins pacing around again. When Cas turns around the corner, Sam’s heart skipped a beat. He's walking along a blonde girl, maybe in her early twenties, both of them involved in what looks like a heated conversation. The girls keeps shaking her head as Cas talks with his hands. The moment they make eye contact, Cas stands very still before his face splits into a wide grin. The girl looks taken aback for a second and eyes Sam carefully.

“Hi Cas,” he managed to say with a little wave. Cas cut the distance between them in a few long strides and engulfed him in a hug. Sam tries to reciprocate, but Cas has his arms trapped with his own. When he steps back, he's still grinning.

“You’re early!”

“I can come back later, if you’re busy.”

“No, c’mon!” Cas lets go of him and turns to the girl. “This is actually… Claire, this is Sam Winchester. Sam, this is Claire Mills. Our Subway Poet,” he beams at both of them.

“Ugh, I asked you not to call me that,” she replies, rolling her eyes with her whole body. “Sounds so lame,” she offers her hand to Sam and he shakes it earnestly.

“Hi, hello. Nice to met you!” Sam can’t hide his own glee. “Why didn’t you tell me you found her?”

Cas looks at him with the sheepishest of smiles.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“So I gather you’re the brains of the operation?” Claire squints at him for a moment, but she breaks into a smile after a second. “Can you talk some sense into him, maybe? Get his minions to stop following me around with a camera?”

“First of all, don't pretend you don't like them. Second of all, we’re just filming the process,” Cas’s beaming. “Meg said---”

“Right, like Meg doesn’t indulge your craziness,” Claire huffs and shoves him playfully. “I’m gonna get going, you guys have fun, catch up or whatever, just don’t talk about me,” she says, already turning on her heels.

“Bye Claire!” Cas yells and when she turns around, they both wave at her. She sticks her tongue out and then winks at them.

“She’s a great poet. She hasn't realized yet, but she’s amazing,” Cas’s voice is soft and full with awe.

“When did this happened?”

“Last week, can you believe it?” He can barely contain his excitement. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” he climbs the steps of the house and Sam trails behind.

Cas tells him all about Claire as they prepare dinner together ( _Claire is a fucking genius_ ), and then he tells him all about the documentary (it was Meg’s idea and Charlie and Jack are on the project too) as they eat, and after that he gives him the tour of the house. They settle on the back porch with a glass of the wine Sam brought (the second bottle, because they killed the first over the food). And Sam is really enjoying himself, Bob the cat purring softly on his lap, if not for the fact that Cas looks jittery.

“What?” He asks, almost reluctantly.

“I’m monopolizing the conversation.”

“I’m enjoying your rambling,” Sam teases and Cas chuckles.

“I’m just excited to have you here,” he grins widely. “Don’t get me wrong, I like to talk on the phone, it’s like. There’s something almost nostalgic about it. But I enjoy this better.”

Sam nods and takes another sip of wine.

“This is the part where you say something back.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Cas shrugs. Sam thinks about it for a moment, but the right words are allusive.

“Is this a date?” Cas blurts out and the question caughts Sam off guard.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Cas shuffles in his seat.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“Maybe that’s not the right question.”

“What’s the right question then?”

Cas opens his mouth and closes it again. He can see the wheel turning inside his head.

“I like my life better when you are a part of it, Sam. But I don’t want you to be my friend.” His heart sinks at at that. “I want more,” Cas continues. “I want, and I know this is going to sound lame, but I really, _really_ want to be your boyfriend."

He has a mind-glitch. 

"Would you like that?”

“I’d like that very much,” Sam swallows hard and puts his glass back on the table.

“OK, good, because I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a very, very long time.”

“I know the feeling,” Sam picks up Bob and leaves him carefully on the floor. Bob looks at him, mildly displeased, but climbs back on another chair. Sam stands up and gestures Cas to do the same.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you climbed the tree to rescue Pip.”

“You _have_?” Cas asks, incredulous. Sam pulls him closer, enough to hover above him. “So Jo was not the only one impressed by my demonstration of boyish agility?” Cas mutters, his eyes focus on Sam’s lips.

“Please, shut up,” Sam buries his fingers in Cas’s hair and tilts his head just so. Cas clings to the front of his sweater for dear life, and stands on his tip toes.

"Yeah, OK."

_Be brave_.

Their lips find their way to each other, effortlessly.

_Surrender_.


	9. Epilogue

_“Hello everybody, this is James Novak here on KEXP. With me tonight, Sempai Charlie Bradbury.”_

_“Hello, my darlings.”_

_“And the talented Gabriel Milton.”_

_“Hello you guys. Thanks for letting me in.”_

_“We’re already regretting it.”_

_“Scolding us from backstage, our producer, the incomparable Meg Masters.”_

_“I’m gonna clean this up, Meg. I promise.”_

_“It’s like hanging out at the kids table.”_

_“In charge of the big panel with all those buttons and blinking lights, Jack Nougat Kline. And joining us later tonight, the celebrated author of the book_ All loving beauty that collapses _, Claire Mills.”_

_“Our audience can’t see her so I’m gonna fill up the blanks: Claire just gave us the finger. Very mature of you, Claire-bear.”_

_“Says the guy drinking from a juice box.”_

_“Oh, I see. So this is how you wanna go, huh? You know what they say?_ What goes around…”

“Payback’s a bitch.”

“ _That was actually a good intro!”_

Sam chuckles and gets his iPod off his holder. He gets the suitcase off of the trunk, locks the car and picks the mail on his way. He unlocks the door and the living room smells like palo santo. He can spot the burnt incense stick on the little ceramic thingy next to the lamp. He puts away his badge and gun and then turns off all the lights one by one. He leaves the suitcase in the laundry room and goes straight to the bathroom. He showers quickly and brushes his teeth. He gets in his comfy pajamas, plug his phone on the nightstand and climbs on the bed, moving a thick book and Bob out of the way. The cat stretches and settles down again. Sam scratches his ear and he purrs loudly. A second later, so does Cas.

“Hey,” he grumbles, his voice all sleepy and hoarse.

“Hi,” Sam readjusts the sheets and Cas opens his eyes long enough to peck Sam on the lips and then stretches some more. “Sorry I wake you.”

“T’s OK. I tried to stay up but I had too much wine for dinner. What time is it?”

“It's a little after midnight,” Sam whispers, draping himself over him.

“There’s lasagna in the fridge,” Cas wiggles and fidgets a little before he settles down. He’s not used to being the little spoon but he’s coming to terms with that.

“I’m OK,” Sam kisses the back of his neck and Cas hums.

“Missed you,” Cas mumbles, his head buried in the pillow.

“Me too,” Sam squeezes him closer and nuzzles his hair.

“Night.”

“Goodnight.”

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

“Can we have blueberry pancakes tomorrow?”

“Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

_You will rarely look like an angel again._

_We tore everything,_

_everything._

_Our days were_

_heels drowned in light,_

_cradle of howling fire._

_Our laughter would strangle them._

_What peace to see them disappear,_

_what aplom when none came._

_Ecstatic subsidence._

_C._


End file.
